The City & the Night

"Fuck Meat"

Part 2

“Then I guess this will have to do,” the client said matter-of-factly.

He reached inside his jacket, took out a wallet and handed a crisp fistful of notes to Deano, who immediately left the room. Then he quietly closed the door and slid the bolt.

Suddenly this had all gotten very real.

He lifted the large briefcase and placed it on the chair, then slid off his jacket and hung it carefully round the back. Silently, methodically he began to undo the buttons of his crisp white shirt. His grey eyes staring at me intently, almost pinning me to the bed. The shirt opened to reveal a pale, sculpted torso. A coating of fur covered his chest and trailed down to a chiseled abdomen, bulging pecs framed by a black leather harness, his nipples large, red and perfectly rounded; the left one pierced by a silver ring.

Fuck, I gulped.

Then came the casual unbuckling of the belt and the slow unzipping of his flies, while I sat spellbound, as he prolonged the anticipation of what he had in store for me. The trousers came off to reveal a black leather jockstrap, the front of which was missing. I almost whistled.

His flaccid cock was obscenely large -- ten inches or more -- and thickly veined like something only ever seen scrawled on cubicle walls. His thatch of pubes was lush and dark. He had the biggest balls I’d ever seen, the weight of them swaying against the hairs that curled from his groin down into his inner thighs like thousands of dark eyelashes. Clicking open the briefcase he took out a gleaming pair of black leather boots which he slid over his calves to just below the knee.

He stood manfully before me with his arms folded across his chest, appraising my body as a predator studies its prey. The lightbulb flickered and a long low rumble of thunder came to huddle on the roof. Then in a deep, level voice he spoke.

“This is how it will happen," he said calmly. "Look to me at all times until otherwise instructed. Do not speak unless addressed directly, and then only to agree with me... and to beg. Address me only as Sir. I trust this won't need repeating.” The words hung forbiddingly in the air.

“N-no... Sir.” Shit. What is happening?

He stepped towards the bed until his Tyrannosaurus cock swung level with my face; huge balls hanging low and fecund. I was breathing hard, eyes wide, as he reached down with a strong hand to twine his fingers in my hair and slowly direct my mouth toward his succulent meat.

“Suck,” he commanded.

I leaned in towards him, feeling as though I was falling into a black hole. I could smell the deep, ripe taint of leather, laced with the unmistakable scent of manly arousal. Alarm bells should have been ringing in my ears, but instead, a switch was flipped, and I wrapped my lips around another man's cock.

It was warm and smooth, and oddly, comforting. His bellend began to swell as the soft, snug walls of my mouth brought it to life. It amazed me. His huge meat curved upwards into the back of my throat as I drooled all over it.

Slowly but firmly he fucked my face until I was gagging at the sheer size. He paused, and I tasted pre-cum, then he pulled out; a thick string of saliva dangling like ectoplasm between my lips and his cock. He scooped it up and smeared it over my cheeks and forehead, then flopped his big bollocks right in my face. I breathed in deeply as my head began to spin. The musk of his nutsack was better than poppers.

He used my mouth until his tuberous cock was fully hard and covered with my spit; the taste of him so overpoweringly potent that I began to forget where I was. Then he pushed me assertively on to my back and stood astride me on the bed, placing his hands against the wall; the intoxicating scent of his balls still filling my nostrils. He showed me the sole of his boot.

"Lick," he instructed.

A mind in turmoil can trigger the strangest of associations, and at that crucial moment mine grappled with a latin phrase I'd heard long ago -- Homo homini lupus -- 'A man is a wolf to another man.' The power he wielded was instinctive and formidable and I submitted, slurping on the scuffed rubber like an animal lapping at one of its own, then the other, as he looked down at me, eyes glinting with a hard steal. I cleaned the sole then slid my tongue up the shining leather of his calves, gazing upwards for approval.

Satisfied, he pushed at my crumbling boundaries further, and lowered his muscular mounds to my face, balls slapping against my chin. His large white glutes were smooth and sculpted perfectly like the rest of him. I peered into the dark crevice, daunted by the unknown, then reached out with my tongue and probed his hollow. It tasted clean but manly and as I dug in deeper he moaned with pleasure, reaching round, and pushing my face in further as I began to slurp hungrily.

"Yeah, that’s the way. Eat that fucking manhole, you little bitch," he growled, riding my face harder and harder until I was gasping for air.

He moved on to all fours as I continued to lap at his hole, branding myself with his scent. I could feel his hot breath close to my arse, and expected to feel his tongue, but instead he inhaled deeply and sighed, "Mmmh, nothing like fresh pussy at the end of a hard day." He spat twice and worked a thick finger deeply into my twat which immediately clamped around it. "Nice and tight," he said, "just the way I like 'em."

Then he turned to sit on his haunches planting both knees in front of me, thighs wide open, his huge erection rearing up like a warhead, its swollen bellend nodding with precum.

He pushed me on to my back again and raised my legs, prizing apart my muscular cheeks and positioning the head of his cock, rubbing it tantalisingly around the pink flesh of my fuck hole, getting it good and wet. I stared back at him and braced myself. His eyes flashed at me as he savoured the moment, then with one firm, deep push he was inside.

I yelped, but he ignored me and drove his way in until I could feel the fullness of his meaty length prodding at my prostate. He held it there, buried deep within my yielding sphincter, coiling the chain attached to my collar until his face was almost touching mine.

"Beg," he breathed.

Out of the depths it crawled, "F--fuck me, Sir. Please, Sir. Fuck me hard. Give me your cock, Sir. More, Sir. More. Please, Sir. Fuck me deep, Sir. Fuck me, Sir. Fuck me like a whore..."

With that, the animal was out, and he began pounding away.

"Take that big fucking cock, slut. Take it. Take it like a good little pussyboy." His words were hard but his tone even, never losing control. "This is all that cunt is good for. Dumb fuckin' whore. Spread that ass, bitch. Useless piece of trash. Work those pussy lips. Yeah, that’s the way. Milk my big dick, cuntboy." His monster cock cored out my fuckhole as it thrust into me faster.

Nothing else mattered. All I knew was gone.

We went at it for what seemed like hours as he cunted me hard and deep, turning me over to push my face into the mattress and fucking me roughly on all fours like a rutting dog -- huge nuts slapping away like wrecking balls -- pulling out completely and bringing the flat of his hand down sharply to redden the ripe flesh of my arse, then plunging forcefully back inside, taking his time, coiling the chain, relishing his total domination of me, while I thrilled at becoming nothing more than his obedient fuck slave.

He threw me onto my back once more, wielding his masculinity like a rapier, and sank his throbbing prick deep inside me again. His breathing became heavier. He closed his eyes then snapped them open, boring into me.

“Get ready slut,” he snarled, “here it comes... here it comes...” and he threw back his head and groaned. Spurt after spurt of thick man juice gushed into my ravenous arse until I lost count. He's cumming in me, I thought. This is what it feels like. It was the most euphoric feeling in the world. He sighed deeply and his head found mine again, a trickle of sweat beading into my mouth. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Th-thank you, Sir," I whispered.

"I'm not done yet, slut," he promised. He shifted his postion to the head of the bed, still rock hard, gripping my waist and sitting me astride his powerful thighs to face him until I was straddling his hips. I instinctively spread the mounds of my arse and lowered myself on to his fuckstick.

"Ride," he ordered.

Placing both hands on the fur of his chest I curved my back inwards and began to grind down hard, letting my freshly cunted mounds bounce up and down the pulsing length of his raw cock. Then he began to speak again, but this time something was different.

"Is this what you like, jock boy?" he asked curiously, as if talking to himself; the bounce of bedsprings getting louder in my ears. "Yeah, I know it is. Bending over at the gym for all the guys to see. Workin' on that juicy ass. Giving them a real good show. Do you think we don't notice? Did you think you were on safe ground? Every man knows a prickteasing slut when he sees one.”

I couldn't fully focus on what he was saying. I'd always thought the prostate thing was a myth, but by this point the fat head of his cock was hitting a sweet spot. It came in waves; a cascade flooding over my body. I shuddered, and my cock freed itself from the jockstrap and slapped hard against my abs.

"Sir, please Sir. You -- you're gonna make me cum, Sir."

I was vaguely aware that I'd just broken one of his golden rules, but this only seemed to spur him on.

“Don't you know that a cunt is just a cunt to most guys, you dumb fucking whore?"

He pushed his thumb into my mouth and wrapped a burly arm around my waist, pulling me down on to his cock as I rode it harder up and down my spunk-filled chute until I felt it spasm around his meat. He felt it too.

"Cum for me jock boy," he murmured. "Show me what a filthy cock lovin' little fuckwhore you really are."

With a broken cry my whole body shook and a thick jet of cum was unleashed from my aching bellend to decorate the dark fur of his chest like constellations in a deep night sky as he began to empty his balls into me for the second time.

I sank backwards and he rolled me over and slowly pulled out, another payload pooling in my hairy arsehole; but still he hadn't finished. He stood up and stepped over to the briefcase which he’d left on the chair; the muscular globes of his arse nudging up and down impressively as he moved. He clicked it open and took something from it.

Sitting me at the side of the bed he stood over me again. I could feel the cold steal of the chain trailing down the sweat of my back. In his large hand he held a small gold tube. It was lipstick. Cupping my face purposefully, he popped the top and began to smear it liberally over my lips until they were slathered and pink. "Such a pretty girl," he breathed as he caked the stuff on. "Wanna see you get this all over Daddy's cock you little slut." I felt like a painted whore. Then he held his glistening cock to my mouth.

"Suck," he growled.

I felt him stiffen again as I devoured him, the bright pink of my humiliation smearing the shaft of his meat; the tang of his cum vivid on my tongue. "Oh yeah, cocksucker," he sighed, and looked down at me, showing me his teeth.

Holding me in place, he invaded my slutty mouth over and over. Then he pushed back my head and for the third time that night his cock spewed its filth, over my upturned face, splattering onto my lips and hitting me in the eye and dripping from my chin. Panting, he scooped up his spooge and fed it to me, ensuring I didn’t miss an atom.

For a long moment he held my face -- the lure of his mouth only inches away -- peering into my eyes, seeming to search for something.

Then he simply turned away and began to dress.

I sat hunched on the bed, his spit and sweat and spunk mingling with my own. My mind was racing. I knew I didn’t want him to go.

“I -- I’d like to see you again. Uh, please?” I said, hesitantly. I'd never spoken that to another soul before.

He didn't look at me. He finished doing up the buttons of his shirt, reached for his jacket then turned and clicked open the briefcase again, taking something else from it which he tossed on to the bed beside me. I looked down.

It was a calendar.

My stomach lurched. Already knowing what I’d find, I fumbled through the months until I reached May. There I was, bollock naked in the university locker room, straddling a bench with my back to the camera holding a rugby ball, looking over my shoulder and grinning like a twat. My name -- Liam -- was printed in unassuming Courier New in the top right corner just as I remembered, but now my ample arse had been circled in red ink and a single word was written next to it:

THIS.

I looked up in time to see him giving me one final cursory glance, then he was gone.

*****

I sat there in that filthy little room, retracing the night in my mind as the dread of realisation slowly dawned. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand; lipstick leaving its mark like a fresh bruise. Then a shadow fell across the bed. Deano was standing in the doorway, cradling a large mug in both hands.

“How did you know which gym I go to?” I asked.

He stepped inside and closed the door. “Mate of mine works there,” he said simply, placing the mug down on the chair, then turning to look at me with his arms folded. “Technology is a marvellous thing, ain't it. Where would we be without camera phones and two-way mirrors? Your gym-honed arse has been in my possession for a good while now. You never know when something like that might come in handy. Especially in my line of work.”

“And this?“ I slid Mr May over to him.

“Client sent me that, didn’t he. He’s a good customer of mine. Has quite the collection apparently. Seems he has a thing for dumb, straight, amateur pussy, and there’s no shortage of blokes willing to bare all for a good cause these days.”

He picked it up, flicking through the months. “This one was like a ready-to-wear cunt catalogue. It’s not women who buy these things y’know.” He chucked it back on the bed. “Knowing I lived in the same neck of the woods he got in touch and asked if I could sort him out with something. Something in particular." He looked at me meaningfully. "As soon as I'd told him about our, shall we say, longstanding acquaintance, and that I was already in a position to provide some extra shots of your accommodating arse squatting in action, well, it clinched the deal.”

“You set me up you cunt,” I said quietly.

“Takes one to know one, mate,” he looked me up and down humourlessly, “or so I gather. Have you never once stopped to wonder why you choose to spend so much of your free time preening yourself surrounded by all that testosterone? It ain't rocket science, fella." The cheery Jack-the-Lad demeanour had vanished and was replaced with something harder and keenly astute. "Anyway," he went on, "between the gym and the pub I knew I’d run into you again eventually. You being such a creature of... habit. The rest, as it turns out, was a fucking piece o’ piss.”

He picked up the mug and brought it over. “Thought you might need a little pick-me-up.” He held it to my face.

It was full of noodles.

I was spent. In a daze, I reached up to take it, but he quickly jerked it away. “Not so fast. It needs a good stir first," he leered. "Now where did I put that spoon?”

Then with a bright smile, he slipped a grubby hand down the front of his trackies and pulled out his long, floppy, uncut cock, dunked it into the mug and slopped it out again -- sauce splashing on to my chin -- and held his dripping prick to my lips.

“There ya go, Quilliam. Just the way you like it,” he said.

I bit my lip and stared up at him. My cock twitched.

“Perks of the job," he sneered. "Just think about the money, fuck meat.”

But it was no longer necessary, and for the second time that night I offered myself to another man to use whichever way he pleased. Deano slid his big ginger knob between my lips, placing his hands either side of my head and holding it frmly in place.

“Atta boy,” he said, with something akin to professional pride, as his cock swelled in my mouth and he began casually fucking my face. “Gotta keep your strength up, lucky thirteen. You’ve got another one due any minute...”