A fitting end to a shitty day – my boyfriend getting cock-whacked.
I peeped at him and his bum-buddy from behind the tinted glass of the sliding doors that looked out on to the swimming pool. Kent, my Kent, and some badass biker-type were bobbing up and down in the deep end, swiping tongue like Winona Ryder swipes clothing.
The guy aggressively probing Kent’s tonsils had a big, bald head, a two-tone Texas goatee, facial and ear rings, and enough tattoos to cover two normal-sized bodies. The blazing sun set the water to glistening on his sunburnt, cinder-block shoulders and head, as he frenched my lover like he was fluently bilingual. I slid a damp, shaking hand into my jacket pocket, gripped the butt of the gun I sometimes kept there.
The barrel-chested tough-guy stuck his thick, pink wedge of a tongue out, and Kent sealed his lips around it, began greedily sucking up and down its slimy length like it was a hardened cock. Then the dude with the ’tude shoved Kent back, lunged over to the edge of the pool, and hopped up onto the side and spread his legs. He gripped his hard, bent-to-the-left cock and gestured at Kent with it. My trembling index finger coiled around the trigger of the gun, testing the tension.
‘Come and get it, cocksucker!’ the tattooed behemoth with the shaved hard-body and beard-matching black and blond bush yelled, his huge, pink body gleaming under the glaring sun.
‘Sure, Brick!’ Kent enthused, in his sweet little bottom-boy voice, his baby-blue eyes lighting up with desire as he watched his friend fist his hard-on. He glided over to Brick like a serpent glides into an oasis, slid in between the nasty man’s muscled thighs, and promptly encircled Brick’s rigid, purple-helmeted dick with his long, slender, manicured fingers. He began tonguing the guy’s bloated cocktop, expertly and familiarly swirling his slippery, pink pleasure tool all around Brick’s massive hood.
‘Fuck!’ Brick and I grunted, he in ecstasy, me in agony.
Brick ran his stubby fingers through Kent’s long, blond hair, Kent gripping the stud’s quads and mouthing cockhead like the seasoned snake-charmer he was, tugging on Brick’s mushroomed cap with his full, red lips. Brick closed his wild, ring-fringed eyes and moaned like a wounded animal. I flicked the safety to “Off”, let my finger dance along the curved, slick edge of the trigger.
Kent inhaled more of Brick’s bent boner, slowly, sensuously, and relentlessly sliding his lips down Brick’s angry erection, till pert nose met hairy balls, till he had Brick’s tool embedded in his mouth and throat. Then he pushed out his tongue and licked at the man’s big balls.
I squeezed the butt of my gun like I meant to throttle it, jacking my rage and courage to the firing point, willing myself to jerk the gun out of my pocket and end this daylight nightmare. I stared bitterly, hungrily at Kent and Brick, at Kent looking up into Brick’s eyes and disgorging half of the ballsy biker’s cock, then chugging it down to the roots again. Kent repeated the wicked sword-swallowing process over and over, the sight of my guy deep-throating another in that sparkling, sun-splashed water burning my eyes and frying my brain.
The heavy muscles on Brick’s rugged arms and shoulders suddenly locked up, and I knew he was only seconds away from blowing his load, blasting my once-and-no-future boy-toy’s mouth full of his sizzling seed. No man could endure Kent’s awesome cocksucking for long. Kent knew that better than anyone, and he broke free of Brick’s clawing fingers, spat the man’s dripping, inflamed dong out, and drifted away.
I loosened the grip on my gun, then sheepishly pulled my hand out of my pocket and stared at my twitching digits. It didn’t take a PI like I to figure out that this was far from the first time for Kent and Brick. And if that was the way Kent wanted to play it, then that’s the way he could have it. But he could count me out of the game. I might not be the most honest dick who ever pounded pavement or pucker, but I damn well knew right from wrong.
I looked out of the window again, saw that Kent and Brick had climbed out of the pool and onto the diving board. Kent stretched out on his back on the narrow, pebbled surface, like a lion in the sun. He had a slim, bronze, well-toned body, with large, dark nipples, long, supple legs, shapely, succulent feet, and an elegant, arrow-straight cock. He lifted his legs and spread his cheeks, exposing his smooth, pink hole to Brick, inviting the hell-raising hunk to punch his ticket.
Here’s to you, Kent, you fucking slut! I thought, and almost screamed, as I unzipped my jeans and yanked out of my rod. I was hard, and growing, and I angrily polished my pole and watched Brick crawl over to Kent, roughly grab up Kent’s legs, and stab his cock into Kent’s anus.
‘Yes!’ Kent shrilled.
I fisted my dick full-blown and steel-hard, my hand and mind a blur, filling my eyes with the raw, sexual sight of the two nude and lewd men cocking on the diving plank. They weren’t cheater and cheatee any more; they were just two sun-baked studs, one of them hammering his hard cock deep into the inflamed chute of the other, putting on a man-show for me.
My hand flew up and down my prick, as Brick savagely pounded his heavy dong in and out of Kent’s warm, gripping butt hole, as Kent frantically hand-pumped his own swollen organ. I shrugged off my jacket, tore open my shirt, pulled and pinched my engorged nipples, tugging on my cock and watching and revelling in the hardcore, he-man butt-fucking taking place right in front of me.
The diving board rocked up and down in rhythm to Brick’s violent anal assault. I torqued my hand up another notch, to keep pace with the sweat-smeared dude’s powerful, churning hips, his bold, rippling ass, his plunging cock, and my balls tightened ominously in prelude to blast-off. And that’s when Brick’s gigantic body started jerking around like boyfriends on a string. He threw back his head and let out a roar that cleared the fences and ricocheted all over the neighbourhood, pouring white-hot come deep into Kent’s stretched-out sex hole. Kent screamed at Brick to fill his bum with boiling semen, even as he jerked jets of jism out of his own cock.
My legs quivered and I grunted with pleasure, sprayed thick, gooey sperm onto the glass and carpet. Brick’s built-for-shit-disturbing body spasmed over and over, the wild man obviously dropping a humungous load into Kent’s sexual core, as Kent pulled frenziedly on his ruptured dick, jacking creamy jizz all over his sun kissed chest and stomach.
The bad boys came and came hard, and so did I. And I didn’t bother cleaning up the mess I left on Kent’s window and floor – that was all his doing, anyway.
When I got to the office the next day, a woman was waiting for me. She was a joyless-looking dame of around 40, and a round 40 at that, with close-cropped, mouse-brown hair, dull, grey eyes, and a chubby face bottomed by slab-like lips. She was wearing an ill-fitting business suit and no make-up, her one concession to femininity being a couple of small, silver earrings, which she kept in her nostrils.
‘You Clark Tozer?’ she demanded to know.
‘Yeah,’ I replied, ushering her into my inner office.
She got to the point. ‘I want you to catch my husband screwing another woman.’
‘Uh-huh. And what’s your name – and his?’ I said, trying to hold back the bored expression seeping into my face like piss into a paper towel. Fifty per cent of my caseload is cheating spouse, forty-nine per cent insurance fraud, and one per cent interesting.
‘My name’s Mrs. Bethel Wojakowski-Gutierrez,’ the woman said with practiced ease, ‘and my husband’s name is Steven.’
Apparently, Bethel didn’t give a good goddamn how Steven was caught cheating, just as long as he was. ‘You want me to set him up?’ I asked.
‘I want you to get evidence of him screwing … cheating on me with another woman,’ she responded, the no-nonsense look never leaving her plain-Jane face. She had all the charm of a bulldozer, and was probably just as effective.
‘Why?’
‘You get paid to annoy your clients or do what they tell you?’
‘A bit of both,’ I replied, folding my hands in my lap, leaning back in my chair, and smiling. ‘I’ve got a passive-aggressive personality, you see.’
Humour was as wasted on her as cock on a clitoris, and she wasn’t standing for any Q&A, either. She pulled five one-hundred-dollar bills out of a small bag roped around her beefy shoulder and said, ‘You get these when I get the pictures.’ Then she stowed the cash back in her bag and pulled out a photocopy of her husband’s driver’s licence and one of his business cards, tossed them on my desk.
She had a vendetta, I had a client.
Steven Gutierrez was an architect, worked in a towering, silver-glassed building downtown. And it was well past ten by the time he finally strolled into the parking lot, jumped in his Pacific Blue Jag convertible, and raced away into the night. I followed him, parked a couple of cars away from him when he eventually pulled up in front of a trendy, strip-mall bar, as his wife had predicted. He leaped out of his luxury car and strode inside.
I turned to Shawneece, told her it was time to go in search of the most dangerous game. I’d used her on a number of other equally sleazy jobs, and although she was a little too street for sophisticated Steven, I was confident that her big, brown eyes, tits, and rear-end would carry the day.
‘Paradise Motel on Kirkland, right?’ she said, sliding her plush bottom out of my car and almost out of her leopard-print skirt.
‘Right. Room 17. The one with the curtains that don’t close all the way.’ The night man and I had an arrangement.
I watched Shawneece’s jiggling buttocks as she tramped through the oak door and into the bar. Five minutes later, I was watching her jiggling tits coming the other way.
‘He don’t like girls,’ she said, once she was back in the car.
‘You sure?’
She looked at me, gave me a sad, knowing smile. ‘A lady can tell, honey – and so can I.’
‘Well, uh … OK,’ I mumbled, pondering the possibilities. ‘Twenty bucks for your troubles OK?’
I dropped Shawneece off at her favourite street corner and then drove back to the bar. Betheldozer hadn’t mentioned anything about her hubby not liking cunny, but as I dredged up a mental picture of the Missus, I sure as soft-on couldn’t blame the guy. I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands.
I walked into the bar, and a half-hour and two drinks later, I walked out with Steven Gutierrez. He was raring to go rearing, and I knew a place, so to the Paradise Motel we za-zoomed. And while Steven was getting more comfortable and horny in Room 17, I was working a deal with Fuckflop Farley, the soul-patched semi-literate who manned the check-in counter come the midnight hour. He would handle the infrared camera on the outside, while I manhandled the cocky cheat on the inside.
Steven was lying on the bed dressed in nothing more than a shit-eating grin when I got back to the room.
‘You don’t waste any time,’ I commented, admiring his creamy-white, muscular body, his pink, protruding nipples, his thick, uncut cock. He had a handsome, dimple-chinned face, and his dirty-blond, shoulder-long hair and big, blue eyes reminded me of Kent. My cock grew as hard as the City with the memory, and the stark-naked reality.
‘You’re wasting time,’ Steven said, his dick twitching with desire.
I doffed my duds and jumped on top of him, covering his hot body with my body, rolling my stiff seven-incher over top of his pulsing erection. I hungrily attacked his mouth, chewed on his soft, rose petal lips, jammed my tongue into his mouth and plowed it up against his tongue. And as the 40-something flamer joyously fought back with his own crafty tongue, I thanked my lucky stars that the well-paying job had become both personal and professional.
We heard something rap against the window – fuck-up Farley juggling the camera, or his prick, too close to the action, no doubt – but I diverted Steven’s attention by pumping my hips, dry-humping the sweet-smelling hottie as we urgently frenched. We pressed lips, hips, tools, and tongues together for a hot while longer, and then I licked and bit the hard-breathing hunk’s ears and chin and neck, brought my mouth down to his nipples.
‘Yes …!’ he groaned, fumbling with a name I hadn’t given him, his buff, burning body undulating as I wet-kissed his nipples.
He ran his fingers through my short, jet-black hair, then threw his arms up over his head and abandoned his oh-so-edible body to me. I swirled my tongue around first one engorged nipple, and then the other, before closing my mouth over top of his left nip and sucking on it, tugging on it, biting it. His blossomed buds were obviously super-sensitive, because he whipped his head back and forth on the pillow and moaned long and loud as I tongued and mouthed his nipples.
The foreplay had gone on long enough. It was time to eat meat – big, thick, come-oozing meat. I swung around on the creaky bed-of-a-thousand-grunt-and-groan-sessions so that my knees straddled Steven’s head, so that my numbingly-hard cock dangled dangerously just above his open mouth, and his own hardened member was in my hands, up against my lips.
I swarmed kisses all over his bulbous cockhead, slurped slime from his yawning slit, my lust ablaze. I excitedly stroked his throbbing dong with one hand while I juggled his furry balls with the other, and he gave as good as he got, engulfing the tip of my pulsating pole in his warm, wet mouth and pulling on it. He gobbled up more of my cock, then got the good, old, sucking rhythm going, moving his head up and down as I pumped my hips, his mouth and tongue sliding easily back and forth on my dick, his hot, humid breath steaming around my saliva-slick shaft.
‘Fuck, yeah, baby, just like that!’ I yelped, before spitting on his meat and rubbing the wet into his foreskin. I earnestly hand-cranked him, while I popped his swelled-up hood in and out of my mouth, breathing in his ballsy scent, my head spinning and body shaking with the delightful smell and taste of him – and with the man-made miracle he was working on my dong.
We stroked and sucked and tongued each other’s flaming cocks for a good, long, wet while in our mano-a-mano 69 position, until I felt my cheeks being spread apart and a wet mist hit my itchy butthole. The damp feeling was quickly replaced by a far better feeling – the feel of Steven’s fingers sliding into my chute. The guy obviously came prepared, and I was always prepared to come.
‘Yeah, finger-fuck me, baby!’ I screamed, as Steven sank two of his digits into my man-catcher, continued to suck on my cock.
I rotated my tingling butt on his fingers, revelling in the sinful sensations his impudent pokers and pouty lips were eliciting. He slammed his fingers knuckle-deep into my gripping, dripping bunghole, filling me up, then began plowing my ripe anus with his digits. My body got all hot and heavy, my legs trembled out-of-control, and I struggled to maintain my mouth-hold on his dick, as the pretty boy banged away at my backdoor and spanked my cock with his tongue.
‘I’m gonna come!’ I shrieked into his penis, all-too-soon. I frantically churned my hips, fucking his mouth like he was fucking my ass. Then I was jolted by fiery, all-consuming orgasm.
My cock exploded and I rocketed sizzling semen deep into Steven’s mouth, down his throat, my sweat-dappled body coursing with sexual electricity. I blasted that well-hung horndog full of my rubbery man-goo, and he swallowed as much as he could, all the while valiantly bum-fucking me with his fingers even faster than I could spurt spunk down his gullet.
When I finally calmed down, I refocused on Steven’s unfulfilled need, and with his digits still plugged into my butt, and wiggling around, I again attacked his lovely cock with my mouth and hands. I slapped his shaft and knob with my playful tongue, sucked up and down on his prong, his foreskin sliding along with my lips, squeezed and fondled his balls.
‘That’s it!’ he hollered in no time at all, and his cock pulsed hot, salty come into my sucking mouth, just about drowning me in his jizz.
I gulped as fast as I could, ecstatic to receive a much-needed protein shot which served to salve some of the bitter feeling from my break-up with Kent. For the first time in a long time, I left work that night with a good taste in my mouth for a change.
I slapped the full-frontal glossies of Steven and me down onto my desk, in front of Mrs. Bethel Wojakowski-Gutierrez.
‘What’s this shit?’ she bleated, tearing my triumph asunder. ‘I wanted pictures of Steven fucking a woman. Not another fucking guy!’
‘Yeah, but … this is even better, isn’t it? I mean, you can really discredit – blackmail – your husband now,’ I spluttered.
‘He’s not my husband, shit-for-brains! I’m as queer as folk! Steven Gutierrez is my opponent in the State Assembly election! In the Laurel Heights district – the one with the huge gay and lesbian population! I’d heard he was dabbling in heterosexuality, and you were supposed to prove it – to discredit the bum!’
I gaped at her fat ass as it stormed out of my office, along with my 500-dollar-fee plus 20 dollars for expenses. Politics was an even dirtier business than the gumshoe racket, I mused bitterly.
But someone was going to pay – someone had to pay. A certain heart-stealing, sword-swallowing, blond-haired bottom boy instantly sprang to mind, and cock. My thoughts and dick hardened. Kent – my Kent – was about to get the sweet, sweaty throat and ass reaming of his life.