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. "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.