Round 006b: Big Brother - Justin vs Scott & Michael - Part 2

I knew I couldn’t do nothing until I could breathe properly again, but it really fucking hurt to be pinned down by a dweeb like Scott and not be able to fight back.

Scott was lying on top of me, his underweight fuckin’ body rubbing against my tight, muscled bod and his matchstick fuckin’ arms holding me there like I was nothing. The more I struggled, the hotter Scott fuckin’ got, like he was desperate to fuckin’ own me. He’d already given me a love bite and no one fuckin’ marks me!

My face was all screwed up, trying to keep the fag’s mouth away from mine but he was being tough, making the most of having me in his fuckin’ power. My throat and neck were fuckin’ killing me, throbbing like our cocks after his brother Michael had slammed my neck down into his knee, winding me.

Scott was muttering my name softly, like “Oh, Justin! Justin!” and shit like that, breathing his fucking faggot breath over me between kisses.

I knew I had to do something to get free and teach these faggots a lesson, but my mind was racing and the room was still all blurry and spinning. I forced myself to concentrate so I could think clear and work out what to do. And then I got smart.

I stopped struggling and just lay there, letting Scott do his thing. The less I struggled, the quicker I could get my own back. So I lay there pretending like I’d given in or something and let the room start getting back into focus.

I’m pretty tough usually and it didn’t take long before I was starting to breathe properly again. I could see better too and most of the stuff I saw was red from my blood boiling.

Scott was working his way down my body, kissing my stomach like he was in love with it. He had let go of my hands now, ‘cause he didn’t think I was gonna do anything and when I looked over my head, I could see his brother Michael sitting on the other side of the room, watching like a fuckin’ pervert.'I waited a bit longer, till Scott was putting his mouth near my cock, and then I jumped into action. I swung my legs around him and flipped him over, laying a fist into his face so hard that he would’ve been seeing stars real quick.

I saw Michael jump off his chair and rush over, so I grabbed the lamp near the bed and swung it at him, hitting him across the head. He staggered back across the room, bringing his arms up to protect his face, so I jumped off the bed and charged at him, slamming him back against the wall.

I laid into his gut, slugging him hard with my left and right fists. Bam! Bam! Bam! Five times I clobbered the fucker’s gut and he doubled right over, dropping faster than a prostitute’s underpants. I brought my knee up into his face sending him smashing back into the wall again.

I didn’t see Scott get up off the bed, but when he saw the bashing I was giving his brother, he jumped onto my back, trying to pull me off. I turned around and rammed him into the wall too, making him let me go, then spun around and put a fist into his gut too. He went down in one punch, fuckin’ pussy.

They were both on their knees now, where they should be, but Michael was starting to get up, so I grabbed his hair in one hand and Scott’s hair in the other and bashed their heads together, making them sprawl out on the floor near my feet. I kicked them both a couple of times, then went over to the telephone and ripped it out of the wall.

I went back to them and kicked Scott real hard again, then plonked myself down on top of Michael, and tied his hand up behind his back with the ‘phone cord. Fuckin’ sucker!

Then I turned around to Scott and pulled him up to his feet, holding him around the throat against the wall.

“You have fun tonight, cunt?” I asked, real nasty.

He started bawling, shit scared about what I was gonna do.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

“I’m sorry.” I copied him, screwing up my face like he was. “Well ‘sorry’ ain’t good enough.” And I punched him in the gut again.

I waited for his eyes to focus after some of the pain went away, then smiled real friendly at him.

“The question is, what am I gonna do with you and your big bro, huh?”

“Don’t hurt us,” he cried and this time I laughed.

“You hear that?” I asked Michael, looking down at him, but he was ignoring me ‘cause of all the pain I’d given him.

“Answer me when I talk to you, you fuck!” And I kicked Michael in the chest. He cried out and man, did that sound good! And it felt good too, seeing him lying there curled up in a ball, trying to protect his chest where I fuckin’ booted him. Fuckin’ power man! What a rush!

“You’re not laughing now, are you faggot?“ I said. He shook his head for an answer so I wouldn’t kick him again and I let him get away with not talking ‘cause I knew that he couldn’t right now.

I shoved Scott away, making him trip over Michael when he staggered away, then dropped to my knees, pushing one of them into Michael’s throat.

“What’s that?” I asked him, pretending like he had said something to me. “A crushed windpipe? Is that what it feels like? How ‘bout that!” My voice was still a bit rough from the damage he’d done to me so I dug my knee in harder and watched his face go all red and blotchy.

“Please don’t kill him!” Scott was really crying hard now and was cowering in the corner with his knees pushed up against his chest. What a fuckin’ pussy!

"You think I’m a fuckin’ killer, do you?” I said, getting up and stomping over to him. “Is that what you think of me? A fuckin’ murderer? Like your fucking’ brother there trying to break my fuckin’ neck before?” My voice was getting louder, I was so pissed off with them, so I took a deep breath and calmed down.

“Get up, you fuckin’ faggot!”

Scott go to his feet, real slow, pressing back against the wall like he was hoping it would swallow him.

“You owe me big time. Real big time, fuckin’ settin’ me up like that. And you know what? I always like my debts paid, with real high interest rates, know what I mean?”

Scott nodded, still trying to hide in the wall. It was making me mad again, seeing him being such a fuckin’ pussy, so I grabbed him and threw him across the room. He landed on the bed, bouncing up and down on the mattress, so I walked over to him and climbed on him, sitting on his stomach.

The fuck raised his hands to shield his face, so I pushed them away really fiercely.

“Look at me!” I growled, “Fuckin’ hiding your face like you was some kind of fuckin’ spastic!”

His lips were quivering ‘cause he was pouting, trying not to cry again.

“Number 1,” I said, clenching and unclenching my fist, “Eavesdropping on my fuckin’ mates and me at school.” I back-handed him across the face.

“Number 2. Dobbing me in to your fucking pussy brother over there.” This time I punched him, making his nose bleed more. The tears were fuckin’ pouring down his face now, but he was still trying not to cry anymore.

“Number 3. Setting me up. No fucker sets me up, you cunt!” I raised my fist and he screwed up his face really tight, waiting for my fist to hit him.

I was holding my fist above his face, deciding how hard to clobber him, but then I changed my mind.

“Now that showed a lot of balls – something I didn’t think you had,” I said. “So I’m gonna let you get away with it this time, ‘cause you’ve impressed me, and that ain’t an easy thing to do.”

Scott looked up at me, so fuckin’ stunned that even the tears stopped.

“If you ever do it again though,” I said, “I’ll put you and your brother in a wheelchair for life, got it?”

He nodded real quickly and I could see the relief on his face.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet you little shit. I haven’t finished. Number 4….” His face changed to scared again and I heard him whimper.

“We’ve got a long way to go yet. Number 4. Doing what your brother told you instead of me. I’m The One around here, got that? You do as I say, not anyone else. I don’t give a shit about your brother. Got it?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“I can’t hear you,” I yelled.

“Yes!” he said louder.

“Good. Remember it.” And I slammed my fist into his face, knocking the cunt out. Bastard. Fuckin’ passing out before I’d finished with him! I slapped him a few times waking him up.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ pass out on me again! You hear me, dweeb?”

His face was starting to puff out like a fuckin’ balloon and it reminded me of Michael’s chest, puffing out above me when he was sitting on me before. I turned around to see was the sucker was up to, but he was still lying there, rocking on his side.

I decided to let Scott recover a bit and work Michael over instead, so I got up and sauntered real casually to the fallen cunt and yanked him up to his feet by his hair.

“What’s the matter, tough guy?” I said, shoving my face into his. “Getting bored all by yourself?” I spun around 360 degrees, dragging him around with me by the hair and slamming him face first into the wall. He bounced off it like he was made of fucking rubber. I shoved him over to the bed and threw him down, making him land on top of Scott. His hands were still tied behind his back with the telephone cord, and his face was all covered in the blood coming out his nose.

I sat on top of him, Scott trapped under the both of us, and flopped out my dick. I was on a high now ‘cause I’d won the challenge and I now I was ready to be sucked off.

I shoved my cock in Michael’s face, making sure that my knee didn’t block Scott’s view. I wanted him to see his brother humiliated, ‘cause I knew it would teach him good and proper. I grabbed Michael by the ears and lifted up his head.
 
“You fuckin’ take my cock and you suck it hard, you faggot,” I said. “And if you try one more thing, I’ll fuckin’ gouge your eyes out, got it?” I pressed my thumbs into his eyes like a warning, then let him see again so he could take my dick.

I twisted his ears to make him open his mouth gasping, and shoved my prick into it.

“Let’s see if you’re as good as your little brother, hey?” I started thrusting hard, making him choke on it, but I didn’t let up, yanking his head up and down, and thrusting my cock in and out too so that the head job was hard and fast.

“Oh, yeah, you motherfucker,” I said, “That’s right. You take it. There’s a good faggot. Take it all.”

I heard Scott mutter something like “Let him go”, but I wasn’t sure what he said. It didn’t matter though. I let go of Michael’s ear with one hand and backhanded the dweeb, telling him to shut up.

Michael’s skin was changing from red to fuckin’ blue because his face was so swollen he couldn’t breathe through his nose and my thick cock was stuffing down his throat. I didn’t stop thought – let he cunt suffer!

When I was ready to cum, I pulled my cock out and turned around, wanking myself the last bit so that I spurted out all over Scott’s face. He was fuckin’ showered with it, man, like a fuckin’ blizzard was falling on his face! All that challenge to top them both had built up a mega fuckin’ load inside of me and now it was all sitting oozing on Scott’s face.

He went to wipe the cum off him, but I slapped his hand away.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” I yelled at him as the last drops dribbled onto his neck.

“That was good,” I said, looking down at them both. Scott was reaching up to wipe my cum out of his eyes.

“I said, don’t you fuckin’ touch it!”

I got off Michael and grabbed him by the scalp, pulling him up and over so he was face down on top of Scott.

“Lick it off him,” I said. Michael shook his head.

“You made the fuckin’ mess, now fuckin’ clean it up! Lick it!” I pounded a fist into the base of Michael’s neck and his face went down, head-butting Scott.

“Every drop!”

I moved to the side of them to watch. Scott screwed up his face as his brother started licking my spoof off. Michael's tongue was huge, like his fuckin’ brothers and it covered Scott’s face real nicely. I was in fuckin’ Heaven, man! Only a faggot would do that to his kid brother, no matter what I told him.

When he was done, I patted Michael on the head like a dog.

“Good boy,” I said. “Now both of you sit up.”

They sat up, backing to the head of the bed like naughty fuckin’ school boys caught by the headmaster and waiting to be punished.

“Here’s how it’s gonna be. You, you double-crossing little cunt,” I said, pointing at Scott, “are gonna be my fuckin’ slave from now on. You’re gonna carry my bag at school, wipe my fuckin’ arse when I tell you, and do exactly what I say, got it?” I waited for him to nod.

“Good. I want the whole school to see just how fuckin’ sorry you are for what you tried tonight. From now on, every day you’re mine. Not once in a fuckin’ while after school in the park. Every fuckin’ minute of every fuckin’ day. If I ring you at night, you’re at my fuckin’ feet in 10 minutes, got it? It took me 20 minutes to walk here, so you can make it in 10. Right?”

He nodded again and I couldn’t help smiling.

“That oughta make you happy, you fuckin’ queer. Fuckin’ fantacising over me! All you fuckin’ faggots are the same. Treat you like shit and you come back for more. Well, you’ve got your fuckin’ fantasy now, Scottie-boy, only you belong to me, not the other way around.”

I looked at Michael, starring at him hard to freak him out. I couldn’t believe he was nearly fucking 30 years old, man. Sitting there like that, all bloodied and scared, made him look as pathetic as his fuckin’ kid brother.

“Alright. Now you.” I said. “You didn’t know any better - only what your fuckwit brother told you, so I’m gonna let you off light. Can’t say I'm not fuckin' fair. From now on, you’re gonna do all the fuckin’ homework I give slave-boy here to take home for me. If I don’t pass this fuckin’ year and next, then you’re dead. You’re gonna let him come to me whenever I fuckin’ call, don’t matter what time or when, and if I ever want something else from you, you’re gonna fuckin’ give it over when I say. Got it?”

“And what makes you think I’ll do that?” he said, still trying to act tough.

“’Cause I’m the one with the bruised throat and hickie on my fuckin’ neck. I’m the one with the ripped clothes and the cum on my cock. And ‘cause everyone knows that I’m not a faggot and that I was coming here tonight. So who do you think the fuckin’ cops will believe?”

“That’s blackmail,” he said, but I could see it in their eyes that they were shit scared I was right.

“That’s right,” I said smiling. “It’s blackmail, and you’re gonna fuckin’ pay the ransom till the day you die, or spend the rest of your fuckin’ life in prison. Got it? I’m gonna go home now and make sure my old man sees the damage you’ve done, and tomorrow at school, I’m gonna tell them all that you attacked me when I came over to get Scott to help me with my homework. So if you think you can wait a few weeks and try anything, you can forget it, ‘cause I’m gonna have plenty of witnesses.”

“You’re fucking mad!” he said to me. I didn’t want to hit him again, but when he said that, he deserved it, so I punched him in the mouth, splitting his fat lip open.

“Didn’t hear you,” I said. “What did you say?”

The pussy looked away and said nothing. I smiled at them real evil-like and grabbed what was left of my tank top and headed to the door.

“I’m going out the front now,” I said, looking back at them. “You better hope the neighbours aren’t looking out there window, huh? You wouldn’t want me to get any more witnesses, now, would you?”

I walked out the door and fuckin’ grinned and laughed the whole way home despite my sore neck. It was a huge fuckin’ victory that night, and a challenge I thought I was gonna loose for a while. There’s a first time for every thing, but I never loose in the end. I always win eventually and it’s the cool fuckin’ challenges like that one that really make it worthwhile.

Total domination and total control is how I like it, and that’s exactly what I got. Like my other bitch, our cocksucking football coach, Agliadis, Michael was way older than me, but I still managed to fuckin’ take him down and make him respect me.

That’s what its all about, see? Respect. They all fuckin’ want my bod, but sometimes you gotta make them respect you too, ‘cause they forget that I’m not just a piece of fuckin’ meat or some wimpy fuckin’ school kid push over. I’m a tough fuckin’ dude with heaps of people who want to be just like me. And I’m un-fuckin’-stoppable, just how I like it.

Story taken from my series "Bio of a Bully"

Round 006a: Big Brother - Justin vs Scott & Michael - Part 1

I told you about how I broke into that chick Chrissie’s house one night and taught her a thing or two about fucking with me. See, she really wanted me bad, but didn’t want her friends to know it, right? So she was bad mouthing me and stuff with sarcasm. I went over there and let her have what she wanted, and I told her that if I heard her bad mouthing me again, it wouldn’t be my dick in her face next time.

That was such a fuckin’ cool thing to do and I still haven’t seen the slut since. Once she got a taste of me, she was like every other fuckin’ whore. She wanted more but knew I wouldn’t give it to her, so she disappeared to another school so she wouldn’t have to put up with seeing me and knowing that I won’t put out for her again. Chicks are so fuckin’ fickle, man. And you wonder why I don’t have a fuckin’ girlfriend?

Now, if you think I’m talking about ‘home invasion’ or some shit like that when I said I broke into her bedroom, then you’re fuckin’ wrong, okay? It’s not. A ‘home invasion’ is when a bunch of punks breaks in and beat the shit out of the people that live there, then nick off with their TV and stereo and stuff. I don’t do that shit. I’m not a fuckin’ thief, alright?

What I do see, is get into their bedroom and give ‘em what they want – kinda like a modern day Santa Clause, you know? Everybody fuckin’ wants me, but I can only give it to a few, right? It isn’t always easy being this fuckin’ hot.

Anyway, so like I was saying, I climb in through their bedroom window when everyone’s asleep and let them taste me. I let them suck me off, or I shove my cock up their arse, and then I go home. Simple, easy, and we both get what we want.

I love getting a good blowjob and some of the fuckin’ faggots out there really know how to give one. I usually gotta beat it out of them first though, ‘cause they seem to like playing that fuckin’ game - fuckin’ weirdos, pretending they don’t want it when they do. I know they want it real bad. I see them watching me in the schoolyard or when I’m out walking down the street and stuff, and I can see in their eyes that they’re just thinking about my fuckin’ hot bod and my huge, throbbin’ dick, and they want me to shove it in them. Really want it, man. So I give it to them.

Chicks are all funny about that kinda stuff. Most of them act real weird when I tell them that I wanna shove my cock down their gob. They cock-tease like fuckin’ mad, and then don’t put out, most of them. So when I’m horny, I gotta use the fags. They give it good and they don’t want a fuckin’ relationship out of it, ya know?

I fuckin’ hate faggots, I really do, but sometimes ya just gotta get it off, and they’re the best cunts for it. I use them ‘cause they want to be used. Nothing wrong with that.

The pricks never thank me for it. Never. But that’s like the faggot’s way, see? They just suck cock then go home and play with themselves. They haven’t got the brains to hold a fuckin’ conversation unless it’s beggin’ for more in their fuckin’ “please don’t” kinda way. Like a fuckin’ woman, I swear! They know they want it. Why can’t they just fuckin’ say so instead of pretending like they don’t and making me have to force it in so they can feel like a fuckin’ victim? What a load of shit!

Anyway, there was the one time when I got the biggest fuckin’ bonus ever, man. It was like, totally unexpected and so fuckin’ cool in the end, though it freaked me out at first.

Y’all know that I love a good challenge. The harder the queers fight back, the harder I get, see? The game pisses me off, ‘cause I just wanna do it, ya know, but it gets me fuckin’ burning too, dominating them like that. I reckon some of them know that I get off on pushing them around, so they deliberately try to push me away so I can get even hotter before they do it to me. It’s like, they want me so fuckin’ bad that they’ll do anything to get me hornier first so I’ll come back for more, ya know?

Anyway, Scott, that twelfth grade dweeb I was telling you about last time? You know, the 18 year old that still looks like a kid? Spends all his time in the library instead of being a man. Well he’s got a brother, see. An older brother who he lives with ‘cause his folks fuckin’ keeled over or something. And Scott’s brother Michael is like, a fuckin’ fag too! He’s like about 29 or something and heaps of my friends have seen him on weekends coming out of fuckin’ queer joints and holdin’ hands with other blokes.

Now, I didn’t know then that Scott has this brother, see? When I’d paid the fag a little visit sometimes at night, the joint was like dead quiet, you know? Not a fuckin’ sound, ‘cause his brother must’ve been sleeping or out fucking his queer mates or something. So I just thought Scott lived with his fuckin’ folks like normal.

One day, my friends were whinging like fuckin’ sissies wantin’ to do something with me that night, like go to a movie or something. I’d been fuckin’ playing with myself all day in the toilets ‘cause I was real horny and was planning to pay Scott a visit that night. Well, my mates kept carrying on ‘cause they like to be seen out with me, right? So I had to tell them I was busy. Then the cunts wanted to know what I was doing, so finally I told them I was planning to pay Scott a visit and stir him up a bit. They thought that was hot shit man, but I wouldn’t let them come with me even though they fuckin’ begged. I told them that if I saw them near Scott’ fuckin’ house, I was gonna kick their arses into tomorrow, ‘cause I know how much they wanna be like me and would probably hang around so they could listen outside otherwise.

About 11 o’clock that night, I was checkin’ myself out in the mirror, getting ready to head off to the fag’s place, flexing my muscles and getting myself all pumped up. I could see why all the fags and the chicks thought I was so cool looking and all. I fuckin’ turn myself on when I see my reflection, especially when I’m all wet still from a shower and stuff. I’ve got the perfect fuckin’ body and the perfect fuckin’ face to go with it.

So after checkin’ myself out for half an hour, I stuck on some jeans and a tank top, so my muscles would be showing and all, making me look ever sexier then when I’m wearing like a shirt or something. Then I jumped out my bedroom window and headed off to Scott’s house. My old man was fast asleep, in his usual drunken fucking stupor, so I knew he wouldn’t come in and find me gone.

I got to Scott’s house pretty quick ‘cause it’s only like a 20-minute walk or something, you know? Can’t be too far ‘cause you gotta live in the area to go to the school with all this new zoning shit that the government is fuckin’ sprouting.

Anyway, I got there and checked the place out and it was all dark and quiet like usual. I walked around the place real quiet to make sure no fucker was up in the back rooms and stuff, and then went around to the side where Scott’s bedroom was.

The shit had his bedroom window open like usual, so I pulled the fly screen out, real steady so I didn’t wake him or make the neighbours hear me or nothing. Then I climbed in like a fuckin’ panther stalking his dinner, you know? Only it was Scott that was gonna be eating tonight, not me!

The faggot was lying on his bed fast asleep, wearing just his underpants. All the covers were pulled back like he was expecting me, ya know? Like, a total “come and fuckin’ get me” invitation. So I pulled down my fly nice and crept over to his bed, sticking my hand in my pants and playing with my crotch.

He was a fuckin’ weed, Scott was – really skinny like if he turned sideways he’d be invisible, you know? Anyway, he’s laying there on his back with his hand up by his head like he want’s me to pin him down, right? So I climb on top of him so I’m kneeling just over his stomach. Then I tap his cheek real softly and whisper to him.

“Hey faggot. It’s supper time!”

Scott’s eyes fly open and he looks at me real scared and he’s wide awake in like a fuckin’ second, man! I stuff my hand over his mouth and shove him back down on the pillow before he can yell out and his eyes look like their gonna bulge out of their fuckin’ sockets!

“I got something here for you, dweeb,” I say. “It’s pointing your way, so I know it’s you it wants.”
He shakes his head, mumbling some shit and tries to pull my hand away from his mouth, so I squeeze his cheeks nice and tight.

“Ah-ah! You don’t want to make me angry now, do you?”

He stops struggling, just looking up at me and I see his eyes flicker over my shoulder like he’s trying to find some way of escaping.

“You know the routine, faggot. Just do like you’re told and I won’t have to hurt you. Alright?”
His eyes flickered past me again and then all these warning bells like, start ringing in my head, but before I turn around, I hear this noise behind me. And suddenly, some cunt grabs me from behind, pulling me off Scott and hauling me into a full nelson near the end of the bed.

“What the fuck!” I start struggling, but the cunt has me pinned tight with my hands pulled right back, way up above my head like I’m on a stretching rack.

“Gotcha!” he says, and it ain’t no kids voice, so I know I’m in deep shit.

“Let go of me, you fucker!” I growl, but he pulls my arms back even tighter, making my feet nearly leave the ground. I’m standing there on tiptoe trying to break free, and then I realise I can feel the skin on his chest rubbing against my back. I fuckin’ freeze, man, ‘cause I’m surprised, and I’m thinking, “Is this cunt naked or something?”

I see Scott get up off the bed, and he’s standing in front of me in his undies, like he wants me to check him out or something, and then the cunt that’s got hold of me starts talking in this real deep voice.

“Is this him?” he says.

Scott nods, looking real worried, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Justin, isn’t it? And this is the guy you like, huh? After everything you told me, including breaking in here tonight, you still feel the same way?”

Say what????? Scott was nodding again, looking real embarrassed, and I was like, freaking out man! The faggot had a crush on me? This was too fuckin’ weird!

I tried breaking free from the cunt again, but he held me tight, my arms stretched up so fuckin’ far that I couldn’t move them.

“Stay still punk,” he said to me. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are!” I said. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you if you don’t let go!”

He laughed, really gentle, like he was trying to be menacing or something.

“I’m Scott’s brother,” he said. “His big brother. The name is Michael and it’s not something you’re going to forget for a very long time. You see, Scott has told me all about you and what you’ve been doing to him. He even told me that he heard you say you were coming here tonight.”

“You little fuck!” I said to Scott. “Just you wait till I get my fuckin’ hands on you!”

“Ah-ah,” he said, lifting me off the ground again. “No more threats. Tonight you get what you’ve been giving.”

I felt his head move, like he was looking up at Scott now instead of whispering in my ear.
“Go on,” he said to Scott. “Take him. Do what you want with him. I’ve got him.”

“Touch me and I’ll kick your fuckin’ head in,” I said to Scott.

“No you won’t,” Michael said back at me, talking real sweet like he was trying to pick me up or something. “If you so much as go near Scott again after tonight, I’ll be coming after you.”
I started struggling again but couldn’t break free from the cunt’s hold.

“Come on,” Michael said to Scott again. “We haven’t got all night. Do what you want with him.”
Scott hesitated then took a step forward, so I lashed out with my feet, trying to kick the faggot in the head. He jumped back out of reach before I could connect and Michael swung me around, pulling me away from Scott.

“Naughty boy!” he teased, the fuckin’ shithead. Then suddenly the cunt pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. Before I knew it, he let himself fall backward, pulling me on top of him, still holding me in the full nelson, and wrapped his fuckin’ legs around mine, spreading them out like a fuckin’ torture rack.

I yelled out ‘cause I didn’t expect him to do that, and he was stretching me out so fucking hard now that it hurt. I gritted my teeth, but I was locked tight and couldn’t even struggle now.

“There,” Michael said. “ He can’t touch you now.”

Scott came over to us, standing by my feet, looking real unsure.

“What’ll I do?” he asked. He looked like a lost fuckin’ puppy, one finger in his mouth like a fuckin’ baby.

“Why don’t you start by taking off his top?” Michael said. “You can pull down his pants, and then you can do whatever you want. Give him some of what he gave you.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Scott pouted.

“That’s up to you,” his brother said. “Personally, I’d make sure he couldn’t walk for a week.”

"You fuckin’ would, you faggot!” I yelled at him but he started laughing again, making me bounce up and down on top of him.

“Look who’s calling the kettle black!” he says, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. Did he think I was a nigger in the dark like this?

Then suddenly Scott leaned over me and grabbed my tank top, yanking at it till it ripped, and he kept on ripping it till it was torn in half and my chest was all sticking out. I saw the shit lick his lips ‘cause he could see my muscles rippling now, all down my chest and my stomach.

“That was a new top you little cunt!” I was so pissed off and even more fuckin’ pissed that I couldn’t do nothing to stop him. He sat down on my crotch and started rubbing his hands over my chest, but when he sat down, I felt Michael’s crotch pressing up against mine, and the cunt was hard. The shit was turned on with me on top of him like that! I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it man – I was sandwiched between two fuckin’ hard cocks!

Scott slid down onto my legs and unbuttoned my jeans, then started playing with my dick. I was hard as, in spite of myself and the arsehole started teasing my cock with his hands, and then his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue and all sorts of stuff that only a faggot could think of.

I groaned and felt like I was gonna fuckin’ burst any minute, but I was also hanging to teach these fucking faggots a lesson. Scott played with my dick for ages and then ran his tongue up my chest. When he got to my mouth, I tried turning my head away, but I couldn’t fuckin’ move it ‘cause my arms were pressed up against my ears, fuckin’ locking my head forward. He grabbed me under the chin and squeezed tight, forcing my mouth open, and then he kissed it, sticking his tongue in and all. I could taste my own cock in his mouth from when he was sucking it! I wanted to fuckin’ chuck!

I tried yelling out, but I couldn’t move my mouth now and his huge fuckin’ lips were muffling any sound I tried to make. He kept kissing me and kissing me and I could feel his cock sucking tongue twisting around mine and duelling with it like they were swords in a fucking Japanese flick!

He was lying on top of me and I could feel his scrawny little body rubbing itself up and down over me, raking his bones over my washboard stomach and pecs.

When he finally sat up again, he was on my stomach. He looked down at me like he was a giant, so I spat at him, pushing all of his saliva out of my fuckin’ mouth. I don’t kiss no one and wasn’t gonna have that shit in my mouth!

The prick slapped me across the face and said, “You like that?”, and then he flopped his own cock out and shoved it in my face, sliding his arse up to my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t have to look at it poking me in the mouth, and then I felt his hands squeeze my jaw again, forcing my mouth open.

Fucking Michael was hard as now and was poking me from behind at the other end. I couldn’t tell if he was naked or not ‘cause my jeans were still on, thank fuckin’ Christ!

Scott shoved his cock in my mouth and pushed my lips closed around it. He started thrusting forwards and backwards and I started choking on it, my face going all red and stuff, so he pulled it out and I gagged a few times, trying to catch my breath.

“What’s a matter?” Michael said underneath me, “Can’t take it like a man?”

“Maybe he doesn’t like giving head,” Scott said. “Maybe he likes the pain he inflicts instead.”

And he grabbed my nipples and squeeze them real tight.

I screamed out in fucking agony, man, and my whole body started to convulse. But it was a good thing, because suddenly I felt one of my hands break free. I swung up, punching Scott in the mouth and sending him flying off me, then twisted around, breaking my other arm free and rolling away from Michael.

Before I could get up though, the fucker jumped on top of me, putting an elbow right in my gut. I doubled over in agony and the cunt sat on me, pinning my arms beneath his knees. His crotch was right in my fuckin’ face and I could smell his hard cock poking against his white jocks near my mouth. If his jocks weren’t on, I swear to fuckin’ God he would’ve poked me in the eye with it.

I could see the fucker too now when I looked up. He was wearing nothing but his jocks, and his chest was all sweaty from holding me against him for so long. He looked a lot like Scott, only older and more solid. He had little pissant bits of fluff sticking out around his huge fuckin’ nipples, but the rest of his bod was smooth like Scott’s, so hair looked really out of place.

“You alright, Scott?” he asked, looking over above my head. I craned my neck back and saw Scott kneeling on the ground rubbing his cheek. He nodded that he was okay.

 “Now you’ve really made me mad, my friend,” Michael said to me.

“I’m not your fuckin’ friend, you queer arsed little cunt!”

He laughed at me again and I could tell he was really having a fuckin’ good time.

“Good English,” he said and started slapping my cheeks with both hands. I tried kicking up my legs at him, but they couldn’t reach that far back. His knees were pressing into my biceps and I couldn’t reach any further up than his sides, so I grabbed a handful of skin on both the fuckers hips and squeezed the shit out of them.

The cunt yelled and I yanked my hands free and pushed him off. But I was still really sore and he got up before I did and grabbed me by the hair, hauling me up to my feet. I grabbed his arm to make him let go again, but he dropped on one knee, bringing me down with him and slamming my throat into his fuckin’ kneecap.

I rolled away gagging. My windpipe was fuckin’ crushed, man and I couldn’t see a fuckin’ thing, the room was spinning so fast! I felt the cunt pick me up again and throw me on the bed.

“All your’s Scott,” I heard him say, and then I felt Scott climb on top of me, pressing his bod into mine again and holding me there with my arms forced back over the edge of the bed.

I lay there gasping, I was having so many problems just trying to breathe. My throat fuckin’ hurt man! I was so fuckin’ lucky my goddamn neck didn’t break.

I tried pushing my arms up, but I was too weak and Scott held me there real easily. With my arms pushed right back over my head and down, my back was arched, sticking my chest out against his bony bod like I was desperate for him.

He started kissing me again, and I turned my face away from him so he couldn’t stick his tongue in, so he buried his mouth in my neck and started sucking.

I moaned, squirming under him to get free, but it only made the fucker more hungry for me. He was getting more excited and started sucking on my neck harder, giving me a fuckin’ love bite.
The cunt had marked me. The fuckin’ bruise on my neck would there tomorrow and I’d have to make up some shit about rooting some chick I met in the park or something.

I was freaked, man. The room was still fuckin’ spinning and I still couldn’t breathe right, but worse than that, Scott was a fuckin’ dweeb. I was the tough guy, the one everyone wanted to fuckin’ be like. But his scrawny body was on top of me, rubbing against mine, and his pissant little arms were holding me there like he was fuckin’ Hercules. I was suddenly this cunt’s fuckin’ sex slave and I couldn’t break free.

To be continued…..

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Story taken from my series, "Bio of a Bully"

 

Walter Pinge Has No Life

(non-wrestling erotic story)

Walter Pinge has no life. It was a phrase commonly heard whispered across the floor. That, and talk of how committed he was to his job.

He sat in his private office, day in and day out, quietly number crunching, his obviously intellectual mind constantly churning over behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses. Not even his straight brown hair could hide his palpable intelligence, despite falling flat against his forehead as if to distract one's attention from his mind.

At staff functions he barely said a word, except perhaps to briefly critique a new book he'd just finished reading, or to sprout the virtues of art house cinema. On the rare occasion that Walter spoke of a holiday adventure (like the time he went to Switzerland and spend two weeks snowbound in his hotel suite), a ripple of excitement surged through his work colleagues and they listened intently to how he spent his time. It wasn't that Walter was a particularly good storyteller, but more the fact that he had something to say.

Underneath his neatly pressed suit and matching tie, the girls in the office (and perhaps a few boys) fancied him as a mild mannered Clark Kent, turning into the man of steel every evening to rescue damsels in distress. For one of the few things everyone knew about Walter was the "me" time he spent at the gym several times per week. While the question of why someone so dull should require any time out for himself was beyond everyone's comprehension, but the result was well justified, as evidenced by his V-shaped physique.

Indeed, despite his painful lack of personality, a number of the office flirts had attempted at one time or another to ask Walter out on a date.

"It's the quiet one's you have to watch out for," they'd say, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of success. Surely someone so tedious must also be lonely and would jump at the chance to have a little company. But Walter always turned them down in his usual polite way and no excuse offered.

Some of the guys even tried occasionally to help Walter out of his shell.

"He just needs a good lay!" they'd proclaim, "and attempt to get Walter out to a strip joint, football match or on a double date with someone's sister. One time they even offered to hire a prostitute for him, but again, Walter declined, politely grateful but adamantly disinterested in the prospect of a night with the boys.

Over time, the offers had become less, much to Walter's relief, though the occasional invitation to a group function or social event still came his way. Of those, he attended very few - namely those held for specific reasons rather than the ones organised for the Hell of it. He was there every Christmas for the obligatory luncheon, and was one of the first to say 'yes' to drinks after work when Barry announced the arrival of his first child. But other than these rare instances, he remained aloof and kept his working life firmly apart from his personal.

In more ways than one, it was probably a good thing that Walter chose to lead his life as such because many people, as he once learned the hard way, simply wouldn't understand.

He led a comfortable life; the proud owner of a Bentley and a four-wheel drive, and he lived alone in the ample space of his own two-storey, beach-side house, paid in cash and cared for by a part time maid who attended three times a week to spring clean.

It was thought, by those supposedly in the know, that the distinct lack of a social circle in Walter's life brought about these fabulous possessions. After all, he had very little to spend his money on, so he was able to save and save and progressively purchase the envious belongings.

But as some had fantasised, the truth was his alone for the keeping. Come 6.00 pm, as the train returned him only a few blocks away from his home, he had already consulted his diary and check for messages outlining any late appointments. Businessmen, politicians, celebrities and other wealthy denizens clamoured for his favours and paid handsomely for his time.

At home from another boring day in the office, Walter would peel off his business attire and refresh himself with a nice long shower, using the moment to playfully examine his tight, smooth frame and to prepare for the evening ahead.

On stepping out of the shower, he would stand before the mahogany-framed full-length mirror and admire his Adonis-like physique. With washboard abs and a powerful protruding chest, his large nipples were like two dark lighthouses, protruding out above the hard, bumpy terrain of muscle.

Inevitably, his 7" cock would be hard, after fondling it under the revitalizing flow of warm water, so he'd stroke it a few times, ensuring the white ammunition was ready to surge out when needed.

A touch of wax, and his flat, lifeless hair would blossom into a mess of youthful design, lowering his age from 30 to an acceptable 24 in the eyes of the beholder. His smooth, baby soft skin was a blessing aided by moisturiser and an asset which he prayed would never go away.

Inside a cabinet, a large array of frames matched every character he played, but on this night he chose contact lenses.

Toothpaste, deodorant, and a touch of mouthwash inevitably preceded the final stages of transformation as Walter made his way to the extensive walk-in wardrobe that offered clothing for all appeal. His tight buns would ripple with each deliberate step and his cock would slowly soften on the journey to the neighbouring room.

Once clothed, Walter would cease to exist. In his place would be 'Steve', the randy ranch hand ready for a ride; or perhaps 'Sir', the harsh bondage master about to punish his slave; or even 'Tommy', the over-developed school captain eager for his first experience off the playing field.

But on this night Walter's companion was the kind which brought him no end of joy. Corey was the son of a New Zealand politician. He was Walter's age and build and he sought no more than 'Adam', a gentle, loving guy of equal standing.

Corey's loneliness stemmed from life in the public eye and his desire for Walter's presence frequently accompanied his journey to Australia deep in his father's shadow.

Corey was a kind, handsome man who sought nothing more than the intimacy he found difficult to achieve back home. His sexuality and the money-hungry hoards that quickly befriended him made romance an impossibility, a difficulty aided by the constant presence of the media. In 'Adam's' arms, he would lose himself completely and become the much loved Everyman of the street, neither known or unknown; neither noticed or unnoticed. Three hours of pure romance and love, beginning with a candle lit dinner and ending when the clock struck 11. And all for only $1,000 a session.

The thought of Corey would always make Walter smile. It was a smile filled with as much fondness as it was pity. He liked Corey, and should fate ever take him that way, he would gladly give it all up for a lifetime of bliss with a man he could respect and admire. For despite the inner sadness, Corey's strength ensured an exterior of smiles and a commitment to go on. After numerous liaisons however, Walter had learned to see through Corey's veneer and found an aching soul that longed for nothing more than to be loved.

It was a need Walter found in all of his clients, but none so profoundly as Corey. He was the only one who paid in advance rather than breaking the spell with the necessary business. All his other clients simply paid on arrival and stated what they wanted. Corey was different. From the moment 'Adam' arrived, the fantasy had to be real.

Every human needs another regardless of how deeply they may bury that emotion. Of that fact, Walter was sure, for he too desired to love and be loved. But his profession had taught him that love can not only be bought, but performed. His evening occupation taught him harshly that caring was a sin and could only lead to pain. As much as he wanted the very thing that he sold, he knew he could no longer give it unless it was paid for in advance.

On this evening of thought, the wanderings of his mind lead to the recent telecast of the Tony Awards and he chuckled to himself at a vision of his personas accepting a joint award for Best Actor in a live performance. But the chuckle soon turned to a sigh as he thought once more about Corey and the hard reality of the vision. Corey was the closest he had ever come to being 'real' with a client. Money or no money, his fondness for Corey was only thinly disguised by the romantic play-acting he bestowed.

The clock struck seven and Walter snapped out of his reverie to select his attire. A tuxedo tonight, with top hat and tails for dancing. Corey's request had been simple - a reunion to celebrate their meeting once more after nine months apart. As governments tightened their belts, Corey's visits had become less frequent, but this recent pause had been longer than ever.

Walter mused over the sense of excitement that infiltrated his stomach as he wrapped the cumberband around his narrow waist. Keeping traditional, he had chosen the black and white tuxedo and he couldn't help but admire the way the cumberband highlighted his narrow waist and broad shoulders. The jacket was next, falling gracefully to the backs of his knees, and he spun around before dancing elegantly with an imaginary partner, softly humming a tune played by the best of orchestras in his mind.

At 7.15, Walter left his house, choosing the Bentley to carry him to Corey. On the seat beside him, he lay a single rose, picked especially to place in Corey's lapel. It was these little touches that had helped to make Walter one of the highest paid and most sought after escorts in the country, though tonight the flower rested there from a simple desire to make the night special.

He pulled up at the Hotel with little more than five minutes to spare and tipped the valet before making his way into the polished marble foyer. Smiling graciously at the attendant, he took the elevator to the upper levels and disembarked with butterflies in his stomach. It was an odd feeling; one which Walter wasn't used to experiencing. In the past, when Corey's visits had been only eight weeks apart, if at all, he had never felt this kind of excitement and it occurred to him that perhaps the long separation had saddened him after all.

The door to Corey's room was adorned with a single plaque, identifying it as the Peacock Suite, named after a Prime Minister of the early 1980s. Walter knocked firmly and awaited the response. And as the door crept open, 'Adam' extended the rose.

"Welcome home," he beamed at the figure framed in the doorway.

Corey smiled, his white teeth sparkling against his tanned, boyish face. His deep green eyes twinkled with amused surprised and he took the flower happily, greeting it with a long, deep sniff before embracing Walter with a hug usually reserved for long lost friends.

"Come in," he pleaded, his soft voice only a few octaves higher than Walter's. "It's good to see you again." He placed the flower in the lapel of his tuxedo, discarding the white carnation that had previously graced the position.

"Don't be so formal," Walter jibed. "I've missed you."

"Oh, Adam! I've missed you too."

They embraced again, their lips meeting in a tender but passionate kiss as Corey kicked the door closed behind them.

"How have you been?" Walter asked, still holding Corey against him.

"Okay," came the reply, "though it's killed me not being able to see you."

"Me too. There's been a few times I've thought of coming over to New Zealand to see you." The truth behind the lie surprised Walter, sending a sting of guilt through his veins.

With a peck on the lips, Corey pulled himself free from Walter's hold and took his hand, leading him further into the suite. The entranceway opened into a large, candle-lit living area and a table set for two. Soft music - some romantic Vivaldi classic - floated through the air.

"It's beautiful," Walter sighed at the sight of the room.

"It's for you."

Another kiss, brief but meaningful, and the couple settled down on the settee by the balcony. The city skyline twinkled in the night sky; the moonlight spilling in through the open sliding doors with the breeze.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Corey asked, not willing to let go of Walter's hand.

"I'm fine." Walter smiled. "Let's just talk until dinner."

And talk they did. In his usual inimitable way, Walter directed the conversation, divulging little of himself, encouraging Corey to do the talking, listening as his companion exposed the secrets of his life for the past nine months. It was as expected - the loneliness seeping through tales of media dodging, work, friendships, hobbies and family. Walter's heart went out to his client as his gaze pierced through the smiles and saw the glimmer slowly dissipate from Corey's eyes.

"And someone special?" Walter asked, suddenly unable to resist a question so personal.

"No." Corey's answer was simple but it stabbed at Walter's heartstrings like a knife.

"I'm glad," Walter answered, and it scared him that he meant it.

"Glad?"

"Why not?" Walter explained. "We wouldn't' be here now if you had someone." And he leaned over and kissed Corey again, the impulse driving him before he thought better of it. Corey responded with as much affection as Walter gave and when they finally separated, Corey stood suddenly and stepped away.

"Dinner will be ready soon," he said. "We...ahh...should sit at the table. I'll dish out the hors d'oeuvres." He passed into the kitchen and Walter moved to the table, taking his place by the flickering candles.

Corey returned presently, serving up a cocktail of prawns on a bed of lettuce.

"It's not much," he apologised, "but I ran out of time, so had to keep it simple."

Walter laughed tenderly and shook his head.

"It's fine," he said. "It's better than I eat at home. Besides, I'm not here for the food. It's you I care about, not the tucker."

Seating himself opposite Walter, Corey smiled faintly.

"Well, eat up then! The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner we can sit together again."

"We can sit together now if you want," Walter offered. "We can feed each other..."

"Adam, no," Corey blurted out, breaking the spell and suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Let's just eat for now."

"Sure." Walter frowned, surprised by Corey's outburst. It was a characteristic he had never witnessed in him previously.

In the silence that followed, Walter ate, savouring the taste of each bite as he did with all food, enjoying the essence of life that came with each meal. But his mind ticked over, making it difficult to concentrate on the flavours as he liked to. The romantic set-up, the sudden movement away from him and now the outburst, however minor, suggested something was amiss and Walter found himself at a loss to understand the meaning. As part of his profession, he had quickly learned to read people: to understand their motives; to hear the things not said, but this time he was floundering. Or so he felt.

It was Corey who broke the silence, with an apology for breaking the mood.

"It's okay," Walter assured him, puppy dog eyes looking across the table. "I understand."

"Tell me about you," Corey asked. "What have you been up to since I saw you last?"

"Not much," Walter answered, choosing his words carefully. "I have no life. It's the same old, same old, really. Renovating my house, catching the odd movie..."

"No one special?" Corey interrupted.

"No. No-one special. Other than you, of course."

In unison, they broke into a smile, whether from the obvious lie of the comment or the earnest truth of it.

"I want to dance," Walter whispered.

"I'll put something else on." Corey rose to change the music, but Walter jumped from his seat and stopped him with an arm around the waist.

"No," he said. "This is perfect." He began swaying his hips as Corey turned to face him, their arms tenderly encircling each other. Corey rested his head on Walter's shoulder, swaying in rhythm with his lead, each lost in their own thoughts.

For perhaps ten minutes, they danced in silence, bodies pressed against each other with no care for the petals in their lapels. Walter stroked Corey's hair, eyes closed relishing the moment like a parent's first hold of his precious new infant.

In time, he kissed Corey's temple and raised his head to greet his lips. A glistening stream of tears floated down Corey's cheeks, their lonely journey speaking more than words could ever say.

Walter reached up a hand, wiping away the tears with his thumb before kissing each eyelid to stop the flow. He said nothing, his own eyes threatening to fill with a rain to match Corey's, such was the power of the moment, so he closed them and pressed his lips against the thick, soft opening of Corey's mouth.

Corey inhaled deeply, his tongue extending to greet Walter's, the gentle advance turning to a more urgent desire as they melded into one being, displaced from time and space in an instant.

In some far off land, the music continued to play softly in the background and the urgency of their kissing grew twofold, then more. The world ceased to exist.

Slowly and deliberately, Corey peeled off Walter's jacket, letting it slip to the floor, his hands moving smoothly from Walter's shoulders to his back to release the cumberband. Untucking Walter's shirt, he gradually unbuttoned it, his hands distracted by the touch of skin as Walter's muscular chest was progressively exposed. Wandering fingers found Walter's nipples and rested to play before continuing to undress him.

Below their passionate affections, Walter kicked off his shoes, using his skilled toes to peel off his socks. Corey's touch was like electricity surging through his body and he breathed heavily through his nose, lips never leaving his companion's.

Shirtless how, Walter reciprocated, removing Corey's jacket and cumberband. Curbing his desire, he ran his hand over Corey's shirt, feeling his solid build through the material, exploring the hardness of his pecs through the layer of cotton that separated them.

A groan escaped from deep within Corey's throat as Walter reached into the front of his pants, coming dangerously close to Corey's privates in an effort to untuck his shirt.

The feeble attempt discarded, Walter lifted Corey into his arms, his firm muscles pressing into Corey's back as he carried him to the bedroom. All thoughts of dinner were gone now as Walter lay Corey upon the soft mattress, sliding on top of him to finish unbuttoning the shirt.

His hands explored Corey's chest, admiring the definition of the torso that thrust out of the open clothing. Corey lay there, gasping silently, eyes closed, head thrown back, body arching to greet at Walter's touch.

"Adam!" he whispered as Walter's lips lowered to taste the flesh.

Walter sucked, licked, taunted Corey's torso like a starving man tasting his first meal in weeks. Stomach, chest, nipples....his tongue flicking out to tease his own taste buds as much as for Corey's pleasure. Slowly he worked his way up until their lips met again, their tongues attacking each other in a duel of desire.

Corey rolled Walter over, pressing his body down against his partner who squirmed beneath him in ecstasy. His full weight against Walter now, Corey raised his arms back as his shirt was peeled off and Walter wrapped his arms around him. The embrace filled him with an overwhelming sense of security and there was little he could do as Walter rolled over on top again, showering his neck in an endless array of kisses.

Working his way down his body, Walter's tongue flicked out again to taunt Corey's bellybutton as he released the clips of Corey's trousers. With hands sliding down his lover's legs, Walter rose to remove Corey's shoes and socks, then leisurely remove the tuxedo pants to reveal his Calvin Klein underpants.

Attacking Corey's hardened cock through the jocks, Walter poked at the restricted erection with his tongue and masturbated it with his lips, taunting it mercilessly. Corey groaned aloud, reaching down to release his penis from the confines of his underwear, but Walter stopped him, pushing his hands away and continuing the tease.

Corey moaned, "Oh, God!", the plea urging Walter on. Carefully biting Corey's cock with his teeth now, Walter stroked it, using the tip of his tongue to tickle the underside of the shaft. Corey reached out to grab the bed-head, squirming in unbearable euphoria.

Walter's hands reached up to massage Corey's chest as he worked his magic below and Corey lay there accepting every exquisite moment.

"You're killing me," Corey moaned as Walter's teeth peeled his underpants back to allow his cock to finally fly free.

A rush of air mingled with the moist overflow of Corey's pre-cum like the touch of an ice cube. It was warmed by the sudden feel of Walter's mouth wrapping around the tip of it, his tongue cautiously lifting his foreskin to massage the inside nerves, sending a shockwave of unspeakable thrill coursing through his body.

Corey gagged from his own desperate need for oxygen, his throat restricting his breath. He clasped the bed-head harder, determined not to interfere with the sensation below, but the tweaking of his nipples sent another shockwave surging through him and he reached down to grab Walter's hands, pulling him up to taste his own pre-cum in Walter's mouth.

He ran his nails down Walter's back, causing him to arch and Corey strained upwards to suck on Walter's nipples.

Walter moaned softly at the moist touch of Corey's mouth and allowed himself to be rolled over, Corey's hands reaching down to unfasten his trousers as his nipples were greedily worked over.

Naked now, Walter greeting with relish Corey's skill at taking his ample endowment whole. It was a rare chance to receive such reciprocal pleasures and Corey's limited experience was easily disguised by his natural proficiency. Sucking hard, with long, moist strokes, Corey worked Walter's cock like a well-oiled machine, swallowing it totally as if it were some sweet tasting lollipop.

Corey's hand reached to fondle his arse, massaging his cheeks and fingering his anus. A soft moan escaped Walter's lips and he thrust his hips upwards to allow further torment.

Taking the hint, Corey thrust his finger inside Walter's anus as he moved his mouth down the length of Walter's leg to his toes. Walter's eyes shot open in surprise as Corey began sucking on his toes, the sensation like nothing he had ever experienced. Both ticklish and erotic, the feeling melded with that of Corey's fingers into an overpowering explosion of sensation. He pulled his feet away, unable to cope with the overload of his senses.

Grabbing Corey by the arms, he pulled him up so that their lips met again and rolled him over. It was time to take charge again; time to give, like he was paid for; time to avoid the agony of ecstasy which would linger long after he had gone.

Sliding off to the side of Corey, Walter kissed his client's chest, sucking hard on his nipples as his hand reached down to fondle Corey's cock. With one hand stroking Corey's hair and the other stroking his penis, Walter's lips pecked playfully over Corey's torso and stomach before finally wrapping themselves around his solid erection for a final attack. But Corey's lust had other things in mind and Walter's desire prevented him from stopping Corey from pulling him over him.

Trapped in a 69 position, Walter struggled to remain focused with Corey's mouth wrapped firmly around his cock, just as his mouth was wrapped around Corey's. They worked each other in a race to see who would cum first and Walter feared it would be himself, out of sheer desperation to receive what he so often gave.

They climaxed together, within seconds of each other, swallowing the thick, ammonia-smelling substance from a desperate need to keep the other inside them. And lying there, spent, mouths still wrapped around each other's penis, they breathed heavily, unwilling to be the first to let go.

But time is the slayer of all good things, and Walter finally let go, sliding off Corey and turning himself around to greet him face to face.

"That was incredible," he grinned, unable to think of anything else to say.

"You were incredible," Corey countered, "as always."

They laughed, their chuckles fading to a smile and then nothing as they looked longingly into each other's eyes.

"I don't think I should see you again," Corey whispered, his voice cracking as his spoke.

"Why?" The urgency in Walter's voice was more desperate than he'd hoped and the pain in Corey's eyes made him mentally kick himself even harder.

"I can't"

"Why not?"

"Because...I can't."

The thought of not seeing Corey again tore Walter apart. He struggled to retain control, adamant not to show his emotions.

"But why? We get along so well together..."

"I need more!" Corey erupted, sitting up in the bed to break their gaze.

"I don't understand."

Corey glared at Walter, his eyes suddenly filled with hatred.

"You're three hours are nearly up," he exclaimed. "You have to go."

Walter looked at him, his mind in turmoil.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, slipping into the safety of pre-ordained dialogue.

"Of course I do!" Corey snapped. "It's hard enough paying for a three-hour session with your fees, let alone any more! Besides, I'm sure you have another client waiting somewhere."

"Fine!" Walter rose, reaching for his trousers and slipping them on. "It's been great seeing you again," he said. "Perhaps you'll feel differently next time you're down and we can catch up again."

"I don't think so."

Walter hesitated, searching at his feet for his shirt.

"Why not?"

"Because...." Corey paused, struggling for the right words to say. "You're too expensive. I can't justify it any longer to my father."

"Your father knows about me?" he asked.

"The money. You know what I mean."

Walter nodded and slowly headed towards the door. "Well...it was good seeing you again. I'm sorry you don't feel the same way."

He exited to the lounge room and reached for his shirt, lying discarded on the floor. Behind him, Corey followed, pulling his own trousers on.

"You must get a real laugh out of this," he said.

"Out of what?" Walter asked.

"Out of people like me, hiring you to pretend you really care."

"Who said I'm pretending?" The statement left a gaping hole in conversation as both men looked at each other, each as surprised as each other by the statement.

Walter's heart raced. He was breaking every rule of his profession, but suddenly he didn't care.

"Tell me you didn't mean that," Corey begged. "Your time is up. You don't have to pretend any more."

Cold feet.

"You're right," Walter snapped. "I don't have to pretend. I'm a cheap whore who doesn't have the capacity to feel. All clients are the same and I'm a neutral observer who gives them what they want then goes home to a empty house without a care in the world."

"You're anything but cheap," Corey countered.

The two men looked at each other and eventually broke out into a smirk.

"I don't want you to go," Corey confessed, "but I can't afford for you to stay."

"And I can't afford to go," Walter admitted, " but I don't know if I can stay."

"You can stay."

They embraced, Walter's hug filled with the need that he had felt earlier in the evening, tears erupting from his eyes.

"I've really missed you," he confessed.

"And I, you," Corey whispered, his voiced choked from emotion. "I know it isn't proper, but knowing that I'd see you again is one of the few things that's kept me going."

"I never thought I could ever fall for someone."

They were both sobbing now, wrapped in each other's arms, tears streaming down onto the other's naked shoulder.

"I want to be with you," Corey proclaimed. "Not just now. Always."

"I was so excited about seeing you again tonight," Walter said through the shower of kisses he was bestowing on Corey's neck. "I've missed you so much. And you're all that I've ever really wanted."

"Tell me you're telling the truth."

"It true," Walter exclaimed. "Every moment I've had with you has been real. Don't you know? You've never really been a client. You've been a fantasy come true. If only I could make you believe that!"

"I do believe it. If for no other reason than I want to."

"You'll have to be patient,' Walter warned. "My whole life has been one big act. I can't change over night. I have to know that you'll be patient and accept me for what I am."

"I do," Corey replied. "And I can wait as long as you need me to, so long as I know that you'll keep yourself for me. Give up this job and find some other way to live."

"I will. I promise."

Another embrace, the duo rocking each other gently in their arms.

"Adam..." Corey sighed. "I wish I could tell you how I'm feeling right now..."

"Shhh..." Walter stroked his hair. "Adam is gone now. It's Walter's turn to be here."

"Walter?"

Their voices were barely a whisper.

"My real name. Walter Pinge."

"Walter Pinge...It has a nice ring to it. Corey and Walter Pinge."

"You don't mind?"

"How could I? I don't care what you're called."

"Thank you."

And on the following morning, Walter Pinge would arrive late to work for the first time in years. In his briefcase, beside the neatly packed lunch and inevitable pieces of fruit, there would lay a letter of resignation and a photograph of Corey with his New Zealand address and phone number scrawled hastily on the back.

In the Manager's office, Walter would push his thick-rimmed glasses up from where they had slid to the tip of his nose and announce his departure from his work, his home and his life, and smile broadly as he left that office, the welcoming images of Auckland and Corey floating magically through his mind.

Behind him, the Manager would watch his departure from the comfort of her high-back leather chair and make a mental note to tell the girls at morning tea that suddenly, Walter Pinge had found himself a life.