Fun with the Taxi driver

Well this happened to me almost 14 years ago. I was a senior executive working
for a MNC then and had to go for a conference to Delhi. I was staying in a hotel
on PUSA road. The conference venue was far way so the company had rented a car
for me. After a day's work, when it was time to go back to the hotel, I sat next
to the driver, who was a young guy of 23-24.He was fair, tall, slim handsome
luking and did not look like a taxi driver at all..

Obsession

OBSESSION
By David Mitchell
(Torso.Jan.1984)

It was summertime and I was eighteen years old.

I lived with my mother in an old two story house which was badly in need of repair. My father didn't live with us; he and mother were divorced.

Mother didn't talk about him much. If she did, it was merely to say how much she hated him; that he was an animal. Once she called him a "depraved maniac." When I asked what she meant by that, she looked at me strangely and muttered, "Never mind." So I assumed that "depraved maniac" had something to do with sex. Any time Mother said "Never mind" it was because the question or the conversation had gotten around to sex.

Night & Day

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THE CLUB

THE CLUB By Colin Crown (Honcho.Sept.1981) Last summer I took a job as a pool cleaner and attendant at the swimming pool of our university's faculty club. I go to school there and live within walking distance of the club, in a small campus community. I took the job to make some money, have something to do and to be able to swim in the pool and occasionally use the handball court. I admit I was also attracted by the fact that several of the more handsome and fit members of the faculty, including profs from my own English department, went there regularly, swimming manful laps, lying in the sun like untouchable gods — and besides that, they changed, stripped and showered in the men's dressing room.

110 IN THE SHADE

By Jeff King
(Torso.Nov.1982)

Rand paused in their sex-making and leaned away from Todd, who looked up with a
question in his dark green eyes. To reassure him that he wasn't finished
exploring the sleek, muscle defined terrain of his body, Rand rested a hand
against the hardness of the young man's pectoral, the gold ring piercing the
nipple pressing into his damp palm.

A LOVELY ASS-FUCKING EVENING

A LOVELY ASS-FUCKING EVENING By Pete Hartman (Cummin’Up.Vol2.No2.1990) When I regained consciousness I was totally naked and being bullied into position over a table size chunk of metal that resembled a blacksmith's anvil that was designed to raise my ass high, with my arms and legs spread and roped securely to metal rings imbedded in the concrete floor. Congressman Baxter had a gun in his hand pointed in my direction, but I was completely helpless anyway, thanks to a kick in the balls his ex-wrestler Chauffeur/Bodyguard had given me. When I was roped into place, the two men removed their tight leather clothing. An instant later Baxter's good sized cock appeared in front of me, erect and ready to fuck my mouth. Behind me, I felt Mr. Macho's even bigger cock nudging my ass crack and my asshole quivered at the realization that it had become the target for that massive missile.

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS By Cooper Bullock (InTouch#98.Dec.1984) Every time the Yuletide season comes around I get this funny feeling between my legs as 1 remember one Christmas many years ago when me and my brother, Billy, stayed at a motel with our father in Vermont. My dad and mom got divorced when I was ten years old. Billy was four years older than me so he didn't seem to care as much as me. I mean, I was real broken up about it. I didn't want to lose Dad but the judge at the divorce trial insisted that we live with Mom. He said that Dad was a degenerate or something. Billy told me that Dad had robbed a bank and had to go to jail. Mom divorced him because she couldn't believe he was a common criminal. I thought he was the greatest Dad in the whole wide world. He was tall and handsome, just like Gary Cooper was. He was so proud of his body too, spending a lot of time in the basement lifting weights and doing exercises. He was always keeping in shape.

GREGORY’S WORLD

By Roger Tuveson
(Torso.Jan.1984)

The U.S. House of Representatives parking lot's red warning lights blinked to
alert pedestrians as the long, midnight blue Lincoln limousine rolled out into
the street, turned left and headed down Pennsylvania Avenue. Its uniformed
driver maneuvered steadily through the evening rush hour traffic, heading for
the northwest sector of the capital. At the wheel, Gregory sat in his dark suit
and tie, white shirt and chauffer's cap. He felt the big car responding to his
touch as he pressed pedals and flicked levers. He caught his own reflection in
the rear-view mirror: grey eyes, slim nose, tanned and lean face with high
cheekbones and neat short blond hair. Very subtly he winked one eye at himself.

In the backseat with the swivel reading light bent over his left shoulder sat
Rep. Buckforth R. Champion, his leather briefcase spread open on his lap. The
representative was scanning a report marked "Confidential" on the outside cover.
He turned it face down to hold his place and pressed a small, silver button in
the control panel on his right.

ANGEL IN A JOCKSTRAP

By George Hillarde (Stallion.Jan.1983) For many years — the last six, to be exact — I have spent Christmas Eve at home with friends, exchanging gifts, trimming the tree, and watching It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on Thirty-fourth Street, or some such festively sentimental film on television. Even a cynic is entitled to be mawkish once a year. Right? Home is a small two room apartment in New York's Chelsea area. There is a wood burning fireplace and a view of the Empire State Building from the living room window, but otherwise the place is not particularly special. No, that's not true.

BOILER ROOM

Story by Mike Williams (Photos by Nova, from the Nova loop "The Boiler Room," featuring Dean Goodman (dick) and Buck Williams. Date Unknown) Steve was only nineteen years old and his job at the Amery Iron Works was the first position he'd obtained after leaving high school. He'd planned on becoming a journeyman plumber at night while he labored at Amery in the day. The work was hard and the hours were long but Steve was a tough, determined kid with a lot of guts and energy. Being on the track team at Central High had kept the young hunk in tip top condition. A stiff set of barrel-like biceps bulged forth from the sweaty white shirt he wore underneath his olive-drab uniform. Beads of warm perspiration dripped from his forehead as Steve hoisted up a twelve foot slab of iron pipe.

TRUCK STOP

TRUCK STOP By Michael London (Honcho.Sept.1981) Jesus Christ, it was hot. The goddamn air conditioner was broken and I had four more hours to go before I was going to be home. I was plowing along at 70 mph, south on I-71 — at least there weren't any cops around. I was trying to keep cool by using my old 4-70 air conditioner — all four windows down at 70 mph.

Farmer Fucks Hogtied Farmhand

(by Anonymous)
[(Illustrations by SEAN)]
Bound & Gagged Sep-Oct 1999



INDIANA. You wanted to hear true bondage stories? Here is my own personal story.
It’s not a recent story by any means, since I’m 52 years old. But every word is
true. I really don’t give a shit if you believe it or not. But I lived it, you
wanted to hear it, so here goes.

FIRETRAP

FIRETRAP By Michael Williams (Honcho.Sept.1981) The South Bronx district of New York is a decaying mountain of rubble and debris. The bombed out, burned down buildings that compose much of the area are the by-product of the angry, economically deprived people who live there. They are people born in the desperate wake of poverty who live in fear of never escaping it. The South Bronx was Jack's district. He'd been a fireman for three years and he'd seen it all. He had witnessed children being burned alive and dismembered in explosions and fires and he had been to many funerals for his fellow firemen. His comrades were dedicated men, many of whom gave their lives in exchange for an insurance payment collected by some bankrupt slumlord who'd decided his building was worth more burned than standing. Frustration was a big part of Jack's job and often it was difficult for him to see exactly what it was that he was accomplishing.

Summer Stock

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Hard Top

HARD TOP
By Michael Williams
(Honcho.Sept.1981)

Dusty was hot stuff and he knew it. Young, lean, tall and torrid, he was a self-righteous ramshaft daddy who'd plug anything and anyone in a position to do him a favor here and there. His brain was small but his shank wasn't. Few dudes dated him just because they liked his mind. No, usually it was the eleven inch, forever-hard pillar that held the firm grasp of their erotic attention. Dusty was no Albert Einstein but he wasn't an amoeba either. He knew what he had and he had the know-how to use it. Some guys beat around the bush now and then. Dusty beat around everyone's bush, all the time. He was a caustic, venom-producing snake whose fangs were as deadly as they were satisfying. He was the ultimate dream fuck macho topman, who'd become just a little too convincing in his role.

3D cartoon - Dreaming student

 

 

HAVE YOU EVER HAD YOUR ASS WHIPPED BY A QUEER?

By George Birimisa
(Torso.Nov.1982)

IN 1952 I WAS FLAT BROKE, LIVING IN A TINY ROOM IN CINCINNATI WHEN I WAS OFFERED
A JOB AS A RADIO ANNOUNCER IN A SMALL KENTUCKY TOWN. I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THE
PROGRAM DIRECTOR WHO GROPED ME IN THE BACK SEAT OF A CADILLAC. I ALSO WASN'T
PREPARED FOR THE ACCUSATION THAT I WAS A FAG BECAUSE I USED THE WORD "GORGEOUS"
ON THE AIR. THIS IS A TRUE STORY.

"Satisfaction Guaranteed" download links

The Party Where They Kill Girls (part 1 of 5) (FF Ff MF Mf bondage torture rape snuff viol caution)

(Some of the stuff in the codes happens in later chapters.  I don't want
folks to start reading who are squeamish.)

PART 1-

It wasn't really appropriate for someone like me to waltz into a
senior prosecutor's office and toss a stack of case files onto his
desk, but that's exactly what I did.  I strutted in, tossed them
down, then stood waiting.  When they hit, the topmost file broke
loose and slid across the varnished wood, stopping only when it
bumped the keyboard on which his fingers rested.   

"One second," he said.  The keyboard clattered.  The mouse clicked.  
Then he raised his eyes to look at me.  No recognition.  A frown.   

"Well, sit down.  I can't stand it when people hover."   

I settled on a wooden chair with velvety upholstery.  The chair
itself sat on plush carpet, unusually plush for a county employee.  
Surrounding me were wood paneled walls with diplomas, certificates,
and photos of him with politicians.  He picked up the topmost
file and glanced at its contents.  Then he grabbed a few more and
thumbed through them.   

"Dead hookers, huh?  Never a pleasant topic.  But I've seen all
these before.  What's your point?  And while we're at it, who the
hell are you?"   

"Detective Wimberly, Robin Wimberly."   

"You new with homicide?"   

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Bus Mein Maza

Main mooltah (basically) himachal se hoon. Mahine mein  jyadatar  ek baar ghar jana ho hi jata hai.Sardiyon mein thoda avoid karta hoon ,kyonki thand mein poori raat safar aasan nahin hota hai. Is liye Maine Nov ke shuru mein hi trip laga liya.

Ghar se aate samay Mein is baat ka khyaal rakhta hoon ki thand se bhi bachh sakoon aur is baat ka bhi ki zyada ishaare kiye bina, jis ko hint  dena ho usko hint bhi de sakoon. Maslan ki jacket bhi le ke chalta hoon aur without sleeve ek tight si open chest  tshirt bhi.  Main waxing regular karwata hoon tau mostly mere haath aur chest clean rehte hain and with little effort, muzhe hint dene mein asani ho jaati hai. Garmion mein tau shorts asani se kaam kar dete hain.

The Cumpany Of Men

THE CUMPANY OF MEN
By Hands Solo
(CumminUp.Vol1Nr1.1989)

"SEX DIRECTOR CASTING MAJOR RELEASE. Expect heavy shooting schedule. Recent
casting couch experience a must. Only superstars need apply."

What a creative way to announce a jack off party! Jerry was so original' Each of
his parties had a theme; there were the garden variety jockstrap affairs, where
needless to say, your BVD's stayed at home. There was that wonderful "Nature in
the Raw" soiree, where some men were the "flowers" and others "bees" — still
stings when I think of that one! (Sorry!)

Hard On Fever

HARD ON FEVER
By Alan Mathews
(Cummin’Up.Vol1No1.1989)

He was a slim but muscular blond guy, maybe about nineteen, a college student,
and when he wasn't attending classes he sunbathed on the apartment patio by the
pool, wearing a tight, skimpy cloth that hugged his magnificent cock and balls
so fervently I could almost count every delicious vein in his big, thick shaft.
My fingers itched to touch that bulge. My mouth watered to suck his man flesh
into my throat. My tongue longed to lick his hairy balls. My lips parched with
the desire to kiss his male body all over, paying particular attention to his
nipples and his asshole and his cock and balls.

The Alien Next Door

THE ALIEN NEXT DOOR
By Robert Heinberg
(Cummin’Up.Vol2.No2.1990)

My roomie Cliff is a sci-fi buff. That’s Cliff. He likes to read sci-fi in the
buff — totally naked, with his big, long dong hanging out. As it swells he
naturally strokes it — like I mind. If this sexy guy gets aroused by reading
from visitors from space then it’s ok with me — especially since I get the
benefit of it.

Hardly Working

HARDLY WORKING
By Mario Mangiacazzo
(Honcho.Oct.1983)

It started every goddam morning at eight thirty — the shattering din of the
pneumatic drill as it chewed up chunks of sidewalk outside my bedroom window. It
drove me out of bed, pursued me around my apartment while I hastily made some
instant coffee and then showered, and finally chased me out of my building and
onto the street. The clatter was of course, even worse outside. In front of my
building four construction workers, two of whom were operating those fucking
drills, were gouging a huge hole that extended from the sidewalk out to the
middle of the street. Heaps of dirt and broken pavement surrounded the hole; red
and white plastic cones marked off the construction area.

The Lock-Up

THE LOCK-UP
By Robert N. Boyd
(Honcho.Oct.1983)

Craig Lewis, twenty three years old, lay atop his bunk in the darkened cell,
wearing nothing but his short blue terry cloth bathrobe. The 7:30 PM count had
just cleared and he was waiting for Mel, who regularly came to Craig's cell on
Tuesday nights.

A Hard Day's Night

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KISS MY SNAKE

KISS MY SNAKE
By Rick Ballenger
(Cummin’Up.Vol2.No2.1990)

I was lying on my back on a blanket in the warm Florida sunshine, listening to
the bubbling of the surf a short distance away and wondering where my next cock
was coming from. I'm not promiscuous but the very thought of a fresh piece of
meat I'd never tasted before made me so excited my own cock expanded against the
tight bathing briefs and I had to reach down and readjust it along with my balls
to a more comfortable position.

Caught In The Act

Caught In The Act
by Bobby Leigh
[Illustration by TITUS]
Bound & Gagged Sep-Oct 1999


I don’t know why I did it. After working as a counselor all summer at The
Chamber Fitness Camp, I guess temptation got the better of me. I really enjoyed
the exercise routine I got into. Pushing those campers every day really toned my
body. I do know that I detested the owner of the camp, Chip Chamber. Don’t get
me wrong; this guy was gorgeous. From the first moment that I saw him, I wanted
to get my hands on him. However, he turned out to be arrogant and obnoxious. He
rode my ass all summer long (figuratively speaking), never happy with my job
performance. He made my life miserable. He was also wealthy, which is where I
got into trouble. I’m always scraping by, trying to make ends meet. This guy
flaunted his money, and I saw an opportunity to get back at him. Early in the
summer, I had inadvertently seen where he hid his key to the vault in his
office. I had walked in as he was concealing it, and he didn’t know I was there.
I backed out, waited a few seconds, and noisily walked in. He never was the
wiser. Later in the summer, I had borrowed his car to do a camp errand and had a
chance to duplicate his office key.

A Lovely Ass-F**king Evening

A LOVELY ASS-FUCKING EVENING
By Pete Hartman
(Cummin’Up.Vol2.No2.1990)

When I regained consciousness I was totally naked and being bullied into
position over a table size chunk of metal that resembled a blacksmith's anvil
that was designed to raise my ass high, with my arms and legs spread and roped
securely to metal rings imbedded in the concrete floor. Congressman Baxter had a
gun in his hand pointed in my direction, but I was completely helpless anyway,
thanks to a kick in the balls his ex-wrestler Chauffeur/Bodyguard had given me.

When I was roped into place, the two men removed their tight leather clothing.
An instant later Baxter's good sized cock appeared in front of me, erect and
ready to fuck my mouth. Behind me, I felt Mr. Macho's even bigger cock nudging
my ass crack and my asshole quivered at the realization that it had become the
target for that massive missile.

"I think you're beginning to suspect what kind of games my chauffeur and I play
here with guests," Baxter said ominously. The congressman had called it his
"playroom" but it resembled a medieval dungeon, with manacles sprouting from the
stone walls and torture instruments scattered around. And "guest" wasn't exactly
the name for what I was. "Prisoner" would be more like it. Congressman Baxter
had put down his gun, figuring that in my present condition, I wasn't much of a
threat to him. Unfortunately, he was right about that.

Having once been a legitimate photographer on a newspaper, of course I knew who
the congressman was, even with the hairpiece and phony mustache and the
non-congressional tight leather outfit he'd worn to the gay party that fate and
a well-meaning friend had invited me to. Being incurably paparazzi, of course
I'd taken a tiny camera with me which I kept tucked out of sight — at least
until the congressman had appeared. It was ironic that several years ago I'd
even taken photos for the sports page of the chauffeur when he'd been a wrestler
named Mr. Macho on the grunt-and-groan circuit. But Mr. Macho had been outside
looking in. I didn't see him, but he saw me.

Okay, so I was stupid for taking candid shots of The Great Man at a gay party, a
potential Presidential candidate who didn't want to take a chance on losing the
straight vote. Now, in Baxter's "playroom" I got stupid again by rattling off a
string of obscenities, trying to get across the message to these two strangest
of bedfellows that my fondest desire at that moment was to take them into the
ultimate sixty-nine position, each with his entire head shoved completely into
the other's asshole. The congressman's chuckle cut me off. He said, "Goodness
gracious, such vile language! I think we could find a better use for that dirty
mouth, don't you?"

He moved toward me, stroking his engorged shaft to keep it hard, aiming his cock
head at my mouth. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he lifted my head so he could
rub the tip of his cock against my lips.

"Suck it," he commanded.

"Go to hell," I suggested.

From behind me, Mr. Macho's palm slammed onto my backside without warning. When
the shock forced my mouth open, Baxter rammed his thick cock all the way past my
lips, over my tongue and down my throat. I enjoy sucking cocks, but I don't like
to be forced to do it. For a wild moment I thought of trying to bite the
congressman's cock off at the root, but I decided it was better to be a live
cocksucker than a dead anything else.

So I sucked his cock. I hated to give the bastard any pleasure — but on the
other hand there was no point in my not enjoying it. I must've been doing it
okay because Baxter quickly got into the spirit of the thing, sighing and
gasping and pumping his hard cock into my mouth.

I'd been so concerned with what he was doing that I'd forgotten about Mr. Macho
— until I felt the ex-wrestler's big hands spread my ass cheeks apart and his
monstrous cock slide tentatively along the crack. It looked like I was going to
get fucked in both ends at the same time! I didn't mind Baxter's cock, which was
a reasonable size, but Mr. Macho's was built like the rest of him — huge. The
notion of having that immense tool slamming into my tight ass-hole was
unnerving. Still, what could I do about it?

What bothered me even more was wondering what these two sons of bitches would do
with me when they were finished getting their jollies. I swore silently that if
ever got out of this in one piece I'd never again take candid photos of a
celebrity with his pants down. Despite my distaste for the congressman, I had
determined to make him come in my mouth as soon as possible, so I could get the
hell out of there. I ran my tongue around his swollen shaft and tickled the
prominent ridge. I kissed it all over and brought my years of cocksucking
expertise to bear to try and get this sexual nightmare over and done with. To
tell the truth, l enjoyed the warm salty taste of it and the in-heat odors that
filled my nostrils. Too bad such a nice prick of a cock was attached to such a
rotten prick of a man.

Mr. Macho's renewed finger- probing of my asshole reminded me that I wasn't
going to get off that easily. I hoped the ex-wrestler would use some lube or
spit or otherwise, on my fuck tunnel, though he obviously wasn't. Keeping my ass
cheeks spread with his big hands, he pressed the huge tip of his gigantic cock
against my tightly puckered poop chute for a moment, then slowly but steadily
slid his thick, erect fuck pole all the way into me with one long, continuous
thrust.

You might know the old cliché about feeling as though you were splitting apart?
Believe me, that cliché is true. I'd been ass-fucked before, but never by
something approximating the cock of a horse. Once he was in me he fucked me with
a rhythm that told me how excited he was by my hard, tight body. I was stuck
like a bug on two pins, and I had little leeway. The anvil and ropes held me in
position and each time the two of them hammered me, my own stiff cock struck the
hard metal.

My body see-sawed back and forth — I was being mouth-fucked and ass-fucked at
the same time. It seemed to go on forever, a mingling of pain and pleasure, a
combination of heaven and hell. My cock stretched up and out to its full eight
inches, thick with throbbing, dripping excitement. The jism boiled in my balls,
overheating and ready to shoot up the tube to freedom.

Freedom — what a nice thought! I was securely tied with ropes, but I noticed
that the ropes rubbing against the edges of the anvil had started to fray. I
kept sucking and getting fucked, but I made sure those damned old ropes got a
workout of their own on the hard, rough metal.

Neither of the men was all that interested in getting his rocks off quickly,
which was just as well, because I needed the time to get those ropes cut loose.
Though I was beginning to really enjoy it, my jaws and my asshole were both
getting sore, besides which various parts of my body were getting bruised on the
anvil. I gritted my teeth, determined not to make any whimpering sounds.

"Arrrrrrrgh!" An animal sound escaped Baxter's lips. Grabbing my head in his
hands, he fucked my mouth in a fury, ready to blast a load of cum between my
lips. His swollen cock got even larger, rose against the roof of my mouth, and
he squirted hot volleys of jism down my gulping throat.

"Swallow it!" the congressman ordered. "Swallow every drop of it, you
cocksucking scumbag!"

I didn't have much choice so I swallowed every drop of it.

The sight of his employer having his orgasm in my mouth apparently triggered the
chauffeur, who let out a big groan himself and went into a frantic pumping that
a few seconds later resulted in his big, thick cock exploding inside my
super-tight ass tunnel and which seemed to be sending gallons of hot, frothy
cream bubbling through my distended bowels.

The ex-wrestler shot about twice as much as his boss — he let me have it all,
holding onto my hips so his big cock wouldn't be forced out by pressure. After a
moment, both men pulled out with slurping, popping sounds, and I felt the jism
running out of my mouth and out of my asshole in gushy dribbles.

I breathed a sigh of relief that that was over.

But it wasn't over.

"Whew," ex-wrestler Mr. Macho, the chauffeur said. "I gotta take a leak, boss."

Baxter grinned. "Me, too, but we don't have to leave the room." He pointed to
me. "Not when we have our own private urinal right here."

Chuckling with amusement, Mr. Macho moved around in front of me. His cock had
gone limp, but it was still enormous. My asshole still tingled from my recent
experience with it. He said, "Open your mouth, Mr. Toilet — I got a bladder full
of hot piss for you." When I hesitated, he seized my nostrils between a thumb
and forefinger, forcing me to gasp for air. The instant my mouth opened to
breathe, he stuck the knob of his fat cock between my lips and let loose with a
steamy torrent of vile-smelling, evil-tasting piss. Since I had no other choice
but to take it, I took it, trying to not let my discomfort show in my face.

And then I realized that my hands were free, thanks to the cords fraying against
the metal. Stealthily I reached back and undid the ropes securing my ankles to
the base of the anvil. The two men were both grinning at my bloated cheeks as
the river of piss kept flowing from the chauffeur's bottomless bladder. I flexed
my hands and legs to force circulation back into them, hoping these two perverts
wouldn't discover I'd gotten loose before I wanted them to know it.

I held as much of Mr. Macho's piss in my mouth as I could, not swallowing even
when he pulled out his cock to let the congressman have his turn.

The moment Baxter got in front of me I sprang from the anvil and spewed the
urine directly into his face. Cursing, he stumbled backward, rubbing his
stinging eyes. I reached down to the floor, grabbed for the gun he'd discarded
and brought it up between the legs of the charging Mr. Macho, catching him right
in the balls with all the force I could muster. The ex-wrestler was big and
powerful and mean, but getting slammed in the balls by a heavy metal object can
turn anyone into a whimpering piece of helpless flesh — temporarily at least. By
myself I couldn't have held those two off and made my escape. But I now had a
friend: a gun that put me in charge.

What I should have done was get the hell out of there as fast as I could. But
sometimes I get irrational when I'm pissed off and pissed on, and I wanted to do
more than escape. I wanted revenge.

I waved the gun at the congressman. "Get on that thing — in the same position I
was in."

He wasn't happy, but he did it. "Okay. Mr. Macho," I said to the chauffeur. "Get
in back of him and fuck the shit out of your boss."

When Baxter opened his mouth to protest, I stuck my still hard cock in his mouth
and face fucked him mercilessly, just as he'd done to me, except more
vigorously, all the while holding the gun at the ready.

The chauffeur seemed to be a bit amused by the turn of events. He stroked his
half hard cock for a few seconds, returning it to full erection and then shoved
that growing monster up his employer's squirming asshole.

Baxter managed to pull his mouth from my throbbing cock long enough to gasp to
his chauffeur, "You're a hell of a bodyguard, you bastard — you're fired! Get
the hell out of here and don't come back!"

Mr. Macho shrugged. "Sure, boss — but let me give you a going away present." And
he slammed his roto-rooter mercilessly into his ex-employer's struggling body
with more force than ever.

I shoved my own cock back in the congressman's mouth and proceeded to fuck his
throat in rhythm with the chauffeur's thrusts into him from behind. After a few
moments Baxter himself was so turned on that he humped his stiff cock against
the anvil in an effort to get himself off.

The congressman whimpered and roared and continued to fuck the anvil until his
excited cock shot another load of cum against it. A few seconds later both Mr.
Macho and I pumped out our own loads into Baxter's squirming body.

"It's been fun," I said, hastily pulling on my clothes as I backed toward the
door, "but I really have to leave. Thanks for a lovely ass-fucking evening,
fellows!"

Mr. Macho surprised me by reaching into a pile of discarded clothing on the
floor and tossing me my camera. "The film's still in there," he said. More for
Baxter's benefit than mine, he added loudly, "Your insurance that this dude
won't try to make trouble for you. If he does, send the pictures to the
‘National Enquirer’."

I had the impression that Mr. Macho was bored with his chauffeur job anyway and
so now was going to get in some last minute fun with his ex-boss. I considered
staying to take more photos, but I didn't want to tempt fate, so I got the hell
out of there.

I knew I'd never sell any of the pictures to the scandal sheets. As soon as the
photos appeared, Baxter would put out a contract on me for destroying his
career. So I held onto them, not even developing them because I wanted to keep
the cartridge in a safe place. The congressman wouldn't do anything against me
as long as I had those candid shots of him in action.

But then I ran into Mr. Macho one day on the street. As an ex-wrestler he was
used to people hitting him and he wasn't still mad at me for having hit him in
the balls. I even took him into a bar to buy him a beer. Of course, he hadn't
bothered to ask for his old job back after he'd fucked every hole in Congressman
Baxter's bruised and aching body and then pissed down his throat and all over
him afterward. He said that Baxter had gotten him so angry that he'd even taken
a crap on the congressman's face!

He said he'd returned to professional wrestling and could use a manager. Would I
be interested in the job? Sure I would but I had no experience. He said he'd
teach me everything I had to know. Besides he had really enjoyed fucking my ass
that night, and he'd like to do it again. When it came right down to it, I'd
enjoyed it too, and I wanted to try sucking off that monster cock of his as
well.

When I told him I hadn't sold the photos, he laughed and said, "Don't bother
trying. I'm only an amateur photographer myself, buddy, but I happen to know you
didn't take any pictures that night."

He was right, of course, as I discovered when I got around to developing the
film. I'd been so excited I'd made a beginner's mistake. I also learned
something else. In addition to never taking photos of a celebrity with his pants
down, if you do take photos of a celebrity with his pants down, don't forget to
take the lens cap off your camera.