This is my first work of fiction with my real-life husband and me as characters. It was suggested to me by our new friend Chad, one of the most talented writers on the site, as you all acknowledge. Chad's become as much a part of our lives in a very short time as our real-life friends, mostly because he has written us all - with him - into his magnificent Resort series. This is my paean to Chad's inner slut, the darling of GayDemon lore, whom we enjoy every bit as much as and in parallel with the intelligent, grounded young man who exists in real life.
The Marine & The Attorney Come Across Chad Unexpectedly
-Inspired by Chad . . .
We'd had a hard week, both of us. My husband, an attorney who travels in elite circles of the Washington power brokers, was involved in an intense negotiation related to a high-visibility settlement, which had him doing twelve and fourteen hour days, sometimes more. For once the universe arranged it so that I was also heads-down and neck-deep in a grueling schedule, leading work on proposal for a huge engagement with the DOD for my company. Fortunately, the coincidence in timing afforded us a symmetry, and while I couldn't understand much of my husband's firm's negotiations with the government to write its wrongs to the firm's Fortune 50 client, he understood my project and the attendant anxieties I was suffering. You see, my company is comprised, almost exclusively, of former and retired military, most like me, Marines; and my husband is a former Ranger; and our company contracts mostly to the military and other areas of Defense and Homeland Security.
We were in the sixth week of our parallel hell, getting only one weekend day - usually Sunday - at our comfortable seashore home outside Annapolis, spending the other five nights a week crashing at our tiny condo in the District. The condo had been my pride and joy as a first-time homeowner, despite its diminutive size, when I met my rich husband. Obviously after we committed to each other we lived in his palatial spread outside Annapolis on the shoreside as opposed to my convenient townhouse. The great tenant we'd had since I'd moved in with him and become a commuter to the District had vacated a week or so before the crunch time came for both of us. The timing of our tenant's regretful transfer to the West Coast suddenly became a godsend, giving us a very comfortable crash-pad blocks from each of our offices.
The pressure was intense, and the only two things that Chuck and I had as outlets for the stress of the projects we were embroiled in were sex and the gym. And we barely had time for those, though we made time. Usually we hit the gym in the middle of the day, stealing away for a quick workout together just to get through the day without punching through a wall . . . or someone. Sometimes we stole away to the condo during the day and fucked our brains out in lieu of the midday workout at the gym. Returning to our offices, the endorphin rush radiating, it was equally plausible to our co-workers that we'd worked out at the gym as that we'd had our workout in a more intimate setting . . . unless they realized that the grin was the tell. The admin who supported me caught on in week three and awkwardly - for me - gave me conspiratorial winks and grins himself which were continuing, and I really intended to not go ballistic on him . . . hopefully.
That sixth Wednesday we overdid the nooner a bit and were away from our offices for more than two hours. We needed - and enjoyed! - it, but we paid for it by not leaving work until nearly midnight. Because of the hour, our gym choices were limited; but one of the local gym chains, a tony chain that operated in a couple of upscale hotels and some premium complexes, was accommodating to travelers, allowing after-hours access to the hotel guests in those sites upon arrangement. Chuck's firm had such a standing arrangement with Vida to accommodate their employees in a similar way when the need arose at the site closest to his building. Fortunately it's about equidistant from our two offices, and it's only a few blocks from the condo. That's where we arranged to meet to get our workout in before we crashed and restarted the cycle at dawn.
We picked up the after-hours entry keycard from the very friendly, accommodating Concierge - a Starbucks near-twink type named James, who made it clear he'd enjoy serving most any need we expressed - and headed to the private elevator for the interior entry to Vida.
"JAY-ames," Chuck intoned in the overly cheerful way the young Concierge had drawn out his name, "Practically bent over and pulled down his pants for you, hon," my husband kidded me as we transversed the spacious Renaissance lobby.
"UH, I think you have that wrong. He couldn't take his eyes off your crotch bulge in that ridiculously expensive and obscenely tailored Italian suit of yours that showcases your over-ample endowments in the way you love to show it off," I laughed. I meant his perfect ass and huge basket. He grinned and punched the elevator call button, then winked at me.
In the elevator Chuck pulled me to him tight and kissed me hard and deep, making my toes tingle. "Don't get too tired from the workout, Billy," he murmured against my lips, knowing that calling me Billy as opposed to Bill might just incapacitate me as the blood rushed to my cock. And as the elevator doors opened he added, "I have plans to bend over for you myself when we get home, and I guarantee satisfaction in ways JAY-ames has never even dreamed!" The tingle went to a lightning bolt, and it shot through my cock right as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
We went to the gym doors, me weak kneed and fighting a boner painfully bunched in my boxer briefs inside my slacks. The Vida lobby was lit low but not dark we saw through the glass doors. "Looks like we're not the only ones here," Chuck said cocking his head toward the inside where there was movement, inserting the cardkey.
"Other overworked gymrats," I chimed in disinterestedly and pulled the door open, wondering why the others hadn't overridden the automatic lights when they went off on the timer at closing time, thinking maybe they hadn't read the little card that was given with the after-hours entry keycard. Or maybe they were there before the attendants closed down and just didn't care when the lights went down.
But as my mind pointlessly speculated, I was instantly alerted by my senses being peaked by the sounds the other gym occupants were making, and I put my arm across Chuck's midsection and very softly warned him to keep quiet. He looked at me like I was nuts; but he stopped and then silently pointed across into the workout area to where he'd seen the motion earlier.
I realized that where he was pointing indeed was a couple of guys in motion, but it was a mirror, and the men were really around the corner from the lobby area, where the workout room ran back farther along the side of the building. Just then Chuck's eyes suddenly went wide, and he broke out in a grin. I didn't know whether the sounds penetrated his consciousness or his eyes focused on the action in the mirror.
We carefully - absolutely quietly - moved around the lobby to where we had a better, almost direct view of the action in the mirrored wall. Three men. One on his elbows and knees on a workout bench, the two others at the first one's end, both pumping into him. Spit roasting him. All naked - and pleasing, what we could see of their bodies.
From the angle we couldn't see the guy getting spit-roasted, other than to see that he had a great swimmer's body and what appeared to be an awesome bubble butt that was getting pounded hard. He was fucking back onto the pistoning cock of his fucker with great enthusiasm, too. The top who was doing the fucking was younger than we were and obviously spent a lot of time staying in shape. Tall, tanned, furry and wiry-muscular, like a man who plays sports to keep in shape or climbs rocks or mountains or does highly physical work. In other words, very natural perfection to his body, not gym work. The other man, who was obviously face-fucking the very willing man in the middle, was also tall, but fairer-skinned and more muscular, almost jacked. Wide, powerful shoulders under a thick neck; extreme V shape from those shoulders down to a tiny waist undulated with rippling muscles. Big, corded arms obviously holding the bottom's head as he face-fucked him. Long, sculpted legs - works of art worthy of Colossus, really, with powerfully thrusting hips. And in between a bouncing bubble butt that made my cock stiffen (again) instantly, watching his butt-globes bounce as he thrust into the middleman's mouth.
Either they were getting louder or our senses were becoming more attuned. "This bitch is made for fucking, Paul. No wonder you blew your nutwad so fast when you had his hole first," one of the guys - presumably the guy doing the ass-fucking - panted. "Yeah, you fucking love taking cock, don't you BITCH!" We saw him look down, breaking his steady gaze at his buddy on the other end, as he taunted the bottom.
A loud, emphatic "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM," was all the bottom could manage with his mouthful of cock, but it was clear he was, in fact, loving it.
"DUDE!" the man face-fucking him retorted to his buddy. "You blew your nut before I did when this bitch blew you, and I've lasted three times as long as you!" From our angle just then I saw the bottom's hand snake between the face-fucker's legs and his finger found the face-fucker's hole. "OH SHIT!" the face-fucker cried.
I turned and looked at Chuck just as he was futilely adjusting his slacks, his enormous hardon impossible to accommodate in his well-tailored pants and skin-tight boxer briefs. He met my eyes when they returned to his face, and he grinned sheepishly. I winked at him and returned to the visual reflected in the far wall.
The bottom's slurping was louder, and the face-fucker's moans were plaintiff. He was obviously fucking back on the bottom's finger, all the way up his asshole, clearly doing its work. "HOLYFUCKJESUSCHRIST!" he growled as his body went rigid, muscles taut and then his buttcheeks began to jerk. Obviously he was blowing the bottom's mouth full of his seed.
"FUCK YEAH, DUDE! Fill this bitch's mouth," the ass-fucker encouraged. "I'm right behind you . . . and adding my nutwad to yours in his cunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnt," he moaned and suddenly pounded harder, faster for a few strokes then screwed up his face in blissful agony and planted himself balls-deep, his body completely still other than his head thrashing as he moaned and unloaded.
Chuck's hand found my cock right then, and I snapped my head in his direction. He was obviously enjoying the show as much as my cock and I were . . . and now my cock was enjoying it even more. I grinned at him and cocked my head toward the door as his hand traced the length of me over and back again. Our condo was a few blocks away. Fuck the workout!
The sound of "YEAH!" coming from the two of them in unison and a loud SLAP resounding pulled our attention back to the wall-show. I caught the recoil from their high-five over the bottom as they both dismounted and looked down admiringly as if proud of the job their cocks had done.
"Let's go - hopefully the bar is still open - I need a beer before I hit the rack," the one we knew was named Paul said to the other. He was pulling on his workout shorts over his sneakers we saw. When he had them just below his nuts he stopped, looked around quickly and then reached down and grabbed something and wiped himself up. As he then pulled up his shorts over his balls and cock he thrust out the cumrag to his buddy. "Here, use his shirt. I'm sure this bitch will love more of our spunk and sweat left over for him. He'll probably whack off later!"
"I'll WHACK OFF now, thank you very much," we heard the first words from the bottom as he climbed off the bench and stood and stretched. "Wanna watch, men?"
He was cute. Seeing his whole body was a beautiful sight. Toned, swimmer's build, smooth but not entirely. His blond hair was tosseled and sweaty, and there was a faint sheen in the dim light of sweat all over him. He'd worked hard for those two. And then my brain screamed WAIT A MINUTE!
I snapped my head another time toward Chuck, and his surprised look at me and quick look back to the mirror told me he'd made the same connection.
"If you're that horny, maybe we shouldn't leave just yet," Paul taunted, grabbing his junk in his workout shorts. "What do you say, Ben?" he asked his buddy.
Ben stretched his stunning body and groaned. "Nah, I've had enough of him. I want a beer then my bed. We've gotta be in the office at eight, remember? We've got that new drug rollout orientation, and you know whenever they roll out a new one our comp gets skewed toward how we get it out there," he said with a slightly bored-of-this tone. "If you want to fuck him again, go ahead, bro. I'm headed toward the bar and then bed."
The bottom, whom we now knew was a delightful young man - a perfect cum slut we knew named Chad - was stroking his hard cock languidly, smiling. It looked like he didn't give a damn whether they stayed or went, like he might like being talked about like a used cumrag. Like he'd got what he wanted from them already and could leave them easier than taking them again. But we knew our Chad - if they stayed - or one of them - and he took the guy's cock again, the guy would have a GREAT time . . . again.
"Nah, bud. Let's go grab that beer before last call," Paul told his friend Ben. "Here," he called, tossing a shirt at Ben.
In turn, Ben thrust his hand out at Chad, pushing the shirt they'd been wiping their slimy cocks with at him. Chad just kept stroking, one hand on his hardon, the other pinching his nipple as he did. "Ha!" Ben laughed at Chad's focus on the job at hand, so to speak, and dropped the shirt on the bench. Pausing as his buddy went to leave, he looked down. "Nice piece there, bitch!" he said, laughing, then turned himself to leave.
Chuck and I both realized we either had to hide or face them, and they'd know we'd seen them. As often happened, we were thinking the same thing. So we both walked out into the gym floor, as if we hadn't known they were there.
The two men who'd been with Chad - the men named Paul and Ben - were walking toward us and noticed us. "OH!" the one called Ben said, quickly shooting a glance back at Chad, who was still naked, still stroking, right there for us to see. They stopped right in front of us, and the stench of their sweat and sex was intoxicating, causing further distress to both our confined crotches. Then, with an OH WELL shrug, Ben turned backl to us. "He's a great piece of ass, and he's up for more it looks like." He looked down at our tented pants and then back up again with a grin. Throwing a wink toward Chuck, he added, "Enjoy him, men - we did." And then they went on past us and out of the gym.
Chad was standing there, stroking, smiling at us. "Well hello, Chuck and Bill," he greeted us with a smirk as we approached. "Imagine the good fortune of running into you tonight . . . or should I say coming across you?" he asked with a smirk. "That bozo was right, you know. I'm up for more, if it's you two - LOADs more."
His smirk had gone to a leer, his grin filthy. My cock was throbbing, and Chad's eyes weren't meeting ours, they were passing from Chuck's bulging crotch to mine.
We'd met Chad when he'd answered an ad from one of our friends to accompany ten friends and us for a week's vacation at a Mexican gay resort. The position Chad had filled - so to speak - was to accompany us and to be at our service - sexually or in any other way we wanted - while we were there. In return, we took care of his expenses . . . and based on his reviews, provided him with LOADs of additional pleasure on that pleasure trip.
The twelve of us were - ARE! - an eclectic group. Three couples and four singles; ranges in age from ours, late forties, to just over thirty. All professionals of one sort or another. All horny gay men, very common or average in that sense. Most of us with impressively-sized cocks - coincidence or adverse selection maybe.
As the most-married - yeah, subjective, but still accurate - of the couples, Chuck and I had not intended to partake of Chad, per se; we intended to watch our friends as they enjoyed Chad. But Chad turned out to be irresistible, both socially and sexually, and I'll leave it to that for the sake of a very fond memory for us that we hope is as fond for Chad. Besides, that dirty little bitch will write about it at some point - we know he will, if he hasn't already!
Chuck and I turned to each other at the same time. I knew he was feeling what I was - both in his boxer briefs and in his head. We were monogamous . . . and very, VERY into each other. As I described it, VERY married. But we'd also succumbed, so to speak, to Chad's not inconsiderable sexual charms during that week. And I also knew that Chuck was thinking that the timing wasn't good, given our LONG day and early call the next day. Then again, our cocks were making an impressive, passionate argument in favor of seizing the moment - carpe-ing the very accomplished cumslut that very diem, as it were.
I raised my eyebrows just a bit, holding my husband's gaze. In response he tipped his head almost imperceptibly in a go ahead gesture. My choice. The lawyer deferring to the Marine, the bottom deferring to his top. Accept the mission or reject it. Then, as those thoughts rolled inside my head, Chuck winked at me and smiled, suggestive.
I turned back toward Chad, and Chuck tracked my line of sight. Right then Chad's tongue passed over his lips, his gaze intensifying, and he bit lightly, freezing that way. His body went taut, and his eyes rolled back, he threw his head back and let loose a long "AHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," as he cupped his hand over his beautifully angry, flared cockhead and caught a handful of his seed as he shot a very impressive wad.
Hearing Chuck's breath fast, matching my own excitement, we watched Chad drain his beautifully smooth nuts into his hand, pump after pump, squirt after squirt, all the while moaning and breathing heavy. When he was finished, he arched his back and put his cum-filled hand behind himself to his well-warmed-up ass. With a typically filthy, inviting leer, Chad said as he worked his hole behind him, "Not that I'm not already VERY well-lubed, but those two together weren't as big as either of you alone, so if I'm taking it two more times with those weapons you call cocks, I need all the lube in my hole I can get."
I shivered, and Chuck moaned in response. And as Chad made a show of slathering his fuckhole well and then brought his emptied hand to his face and licked slowly in a long swath from the heel of his hand to his fingers, we both just quivered. "And," Chad added, that intoxicatingly dirty grin and smacking his lips, "I didn't mean to imply you could each only fuck me once. Those guys warmed me up for you, and I don't have my first meeting here until lunch tomorrow!"