Fan Male

I felt a hand on my cock, cupping my cock at the root, on the underside—holding my cock up at a raised angle, my hips already being raised by the wedge. Then I turned stone cold and a chill went through my body as I felt the cold steel tip of the wand at my piss slit. I screamed out as the first of the wands slowly entered me there. Violation, stuffing, remarkably little pain, an electric zing through my body, my cock engorging, an indescribable feeling of sensual pleasure—enhanced by the mere thought of now having had every orifice of my body dominated and fucked by my dark angel.

“Relax, relax,” I was hearing in a soft, soothing, hummed tone. “Relax and go with the feeling. It will be so much better,”

A sucking, emptying feeling as the wand slid out. A strange sense of loss and emptiness when it is gone.

Then a thicker wand, entering me, making me scream again despite myself. Tightening up, but then remembering, and relaxing. But as this wand glided up through my urethra, I knew I was about to cum. I yelled out to the dark angel. Asking for mercy. Letting him know I was going to blow. And the wand glided back out and I did blow my wad.

A husky laugh from the dark angel and a cleaning of my penis with his tongue.

That’s it then, I think. Yet another, deeper, darker experience. That was OK then.

But then an even thicker wand at my piss slit. pushing in, stretching me. Loud humming. I cry out. “Oh, God, oh God. Noooo. Yessss. M-o-o-a-n-n . . .”

 

Hardesty reached over and clicked from the Sandman story on the computer screen to the accompanying video. William Hopkins, the National Art Gallery curator, tall, slender, lightly but nicely muscled, and naked, was draped over Hardesty’s lap as the vice cop sat at the foot of the bed, looking into the computer on the table in front of him. They were in Hopkins’s apartment. The party was going on out in the living area without them. Hopkins didn’t seem to mind that he was abdicating his host role for the party. He’d paid Hardesty a thousand dollars to attend, and this was what he was paying Hardesty for.

“Fuck, you’re a monster. Your dick is enormous,” Hopkins whimpered.

He should know. Hardesty’s hard shaft was deep up into Hopkins’s anal passage. The gallery curator was sitting in the vice cop’s lap, skewered on Hardesty’s erection. His arms ran up Hardesty’s chest and were bound together behind Hardesty’s neck. His ankles were bound to Hardesty’s calves. While he was naked, Hardesty wasn’t. He was still wearing his mesh muscle shirt and his tight trousers, although the trousers were unbuttoned and flared to allow his cock to jut out and snake up into Hopkins’s passage.

Hopkins was pressing the back of his head into Hardesty’s chest and panting hard. With one hand, Hardesty was twirling the fourth sounding wand they had used down into Hopkins’s urethra slit. He was palming the other man’s flat belly with his other hand, holding Hopkins steady to prevent slippage of the steel wand fucking his cock.

Hopkins was more of a pro at this than Hardesty was. He had wanted it. He had told Hardesty that was what he wanted from him. He had found the story to do it to. He had written out a check while Hardesty stood there, and when Hardesty had pressed him on why Hopkins insisted on having this from him, Hopkins had said, “Being taken that way by a hunky vice cop makes it twice as arousing. Do you want the money or not?” Hardesty was happy to fuck the guy anyway and he could use the money.

Hopkins was well aware that his intern assistant, Kit Helms, was also the hardcore porn writer, Sandman. He knew what Kit wrote. He wanted to experience what Kit wrote. He could afford to pay for it. He thrilled that a hunky, thuggish vice cop had taken his money to do this to him.

The top in the story had been humming. The top in the video was humming. Hardesty was humming as he worked. Once started, he decided this was quite interesting.

“This is something a lover showed me,” Hardesty murmured. “Have you ever done this before?” He’d only buried the rod in Hopkins’s slit four inches, leaving three exposed. He pulled his cock out of Hopkins’s ass, adjusted their positions until his cock was touching Hopkins’s shaft, slowly buried the exposed three inches of the rod skewering Hopkins in his own urethra slit, pulled Hopkins’s foreskin over his bulb, held both cocks in hand, and gently masturbated the skewered and kissing cock heads together.

Hopkins panted hard, murmuring, “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. No, I’ve never . . . Oh, my god that’s hot!”

He went silent as Hardesty masturbated the two rod-joined cocks together until the vice cop pulled his shaft channel off the rod, grasped it, and pulled it out of Hopkins’s dick.

“You’re cruel. You’re a nasty thug,” Hopkins called out as the fourth wand emerged. “You’re a beast . . . a brute. You’re a monster.”

Then he moaned low as the fifth twirled into his piss slit. “Oh, Fuck. Oh, shit. Punish me. Take me to heaven. You’re a fucking thug. Yes, yes, YES! I’m going to . . .”

“Do you want me to do the same with this one as the last? Play kissing cock heads with you?” Hardesty asked.

“Yes. Yes! Do it!” came the reply.

Hardesty did it, with Hopkins panting and Hardesty humming.

And, as the fifth, thick sounding wand twirled out of his dickhead, Hopkins cried out and shot his cum up onto his belly.

“Oh, shit. Oh, fuckin’ shit,” he called out as Hardesty twirled the sixth wand into the slit. “You’re killing me. Fuck me. Fuck me to heaven!”

Leaving the wand buried deep in Hopkins’s urethra canal, Hardesty grasped the man’s hips, settled his channel once more on Hardesty’s shaft, and raised and lowered Hopkins on his cock until he too tensed and released, tensed and released.

Meanwhile, down the hall, in the living area, the party Hopkins was throwing for visiting French artists was winding down. Hopkins, still bound to Hardesty’s front, mewed and panted as the two cooled down.

“Don’t—” he whispered.

“When we’ve cooled down, I’ll fuck you again,” Hardesty murmured.

“Oh, shit yes,” Hopkins answered. “God, you’re a beast. You’re a brute.”

“Which you want me to be,” Hardesty said. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

“Fuckin’ right. Fuck me again, you fucking stud.”

Hardesty smiled in a amusement from getting this response from the usually very dignified National Art Gallery curator.

* * * *

“You OK, Kit?”

“Yes, thanks, Hardesty. I’ll be just fine.”

“With the peroxided hair you look like a street whore.”

“Do you think so?” Kit Helms asked. “Should I dye it back to red until the natural color comes out?”

“No,” Hardesty answered. “That was a compliment. I like street whores. I get my rocks off on street whores. Hasn’t Toby told you that?”

“Yes, he has.” Kit gave a little shiver remembering back to when Hardesty had misunderstood who he was and gave him the first rough ride that had told Kit that this was how he liked to have it. Even now, when the big thug reached out and touched Ken’s arm, the young man trembled from the remembrance of lying helpless in his embrace with that big cock of his working its way down to Kit’s soft core and playing him there, alternating from violin to kettle drum.

He liked that he could have straightforward banter with the big, beautiful stud Toby lived with. No pretenses here. Of course, Hardesty had fucked him three ways from Sunday already and had been instrumental in bringing Kit out to live what he wrote. There was no reason there should be pretenses between them. That Hardesty was a vice cop only added to the thrills and shivers he produced from his nasty take-no-prisoners bent sex.

Kit had seen Hardesty roaming around the party for French artists at the apartment of William Hopkins, the National Art Gallery curator, the Saturday after the decisive end was put to the Ian Marcus case. Kit had been nervous about that. Marcus had won him over. When they parted, Kit would have let the man do anything to him that Marcus wanted. It didn’t matter that the man was a psychotic killer. Of course, Kit hadn’t known the man was a killer at the time. He hadn’t told anyone that Marcus had broken him and Kit had become the man’s willing slave. He certainly didn’t tell anyone that Marcus had lost interest at that point and had rejected Kit. He never would reveal all of that. But it made him both nervous and tingly “down there” to know he had that capability in him. He’d written some really hot and dirty stories for the Internet site under the Sandman name since then. And he was ready now to live that life.

If Toby didn’t already have him, Hardesty was someone Kit could live that life with—a pain/ecstasy/passion life without pretenses. Never-ending inspiration for the stories he wrote. He hadn’t understood before why Toby could live that life. Now he did.

He, Hardesty, and Toby had been eying each other across the room during the party. The party was winding down now, though. The host, Hopkins, had disappeared, and all but one of the French artist guests was gone. The one who lingered was a big bruiser black Algerian. He was across the room putting the make on Toby. That didn’t require much effort, as both Toby and Kit were at the party for pay through Toby’s escort agency. Hardesty was there thanks to Hopkins’s checkbook. If the Algerian wanted to fuck Toby, Toby would lay down for him. He was being paid for an “anything goes” evening. For that matter, if he wanted to fuck Kit, Kit would lay down for him too. If he wanted Hardesty to fuck him, he’d have to consult with Hopkins. This was a new Kit, thanks to Hardesty, but also, Kit had to admit, if only to himself, to Ian Marcus.

This was the first opportunity Kit had to saddle up to Hardesty, who had been a favorite of a certain slice of the party guests, including one of the French artists, who had gone back to the bedrooms with Hardesty early in the party.

“You look like a paid stud yourself,” he said to Hardesty. “The tight mesh T-shirt shows off your physique really well. And is that a basket thrust forward style of tight pants you’re wearing?”

“Tonight I am a paid stud,” Hardesty answered. “I’m here on the host’s dollar. This is what Hopkins asked me to wear. The thrust is natural, though. You should know that.”

Kit did know that. He just wanted to talk about it. He’d been in heat since he’d first seen Hardesty at the party. It was Hardesty he was in heat for. The two men who had fucked him during the party back in the bedrooms hadn’t taken the edge off his want for Hardesty. “And yes,” Hardesty continued, “I’m being paid to entertain the guests who are so inclined as well—with Hopkins’s approval, he thinks. But I have final say myself.”

“And Hopkins himself?” Kit worked for the man at the National Art Gallery. He knew how the man swung. He’d invited Hardesty to the party for his own pleasure.

“He’s so inclined. He’s in his bedroom, resting, now.”

“Legs spread open, unable to close them? Humming and blowing bubbles?”

“When I left him, yes. A big smile on his face too. I think he’s gotten his money’s worth. All thanks to your stories.”

“Any particular one?”

“The kissing sounding cocks.”

“Ah,” Kit said, shuddering. “How many is that at the party for you, including my boss?”

“Two. And you? How many here have laid you already?”

“Two. Can you get it up again? Are you going to get your rocks off with me again?”

“On you, not with you. The last we did it, I got the impression that was what you wanted. That’s different from ‘with you.’ You write stories about that as Sandman. It’s ‘the difference between someone making love to you and someone fucking the shit out of you. I’m not much of a lover. I fuck guys. You write stories about what I do to guys.”

“I already have,” Kit answered, with a smile. “Were you aware that the guys you fuck rough are getting their rocks off nicely too?”

“They can if they like. That isn’t why I do it, though. I’m an ‘it’s all about my jack off’ guy.”

“Some guys find that charming,” Kit said.

“Do you?”

“I do now. I didn’t until recently.”

“Recently?”

“Until you hogtied me, made me helpless and vulnerable, and fucked the shit out of me. My new mantra is that the pain brings the ecstasy and passion.”

“Is it now?” Hardesty said. “Did you find that you enjoyed being bound and fucked hard? Did you like it when Ian Marcus did it to you?”

Kit paused and gave Hardesty a sharp look. “The truth?”

“Yes, the truth.”

“Because you’re Hardesty and not because you’re a vice cop?”

“I’m always Hardesty.”

“OK, Yes, I enjoyed getting it from Marcus.” There, it was out. He hadn’t meant to tell anyone ever that he had succumbed to Marcus’s assaults. But, with Hardesty, there were no pretenses. You couldn’t lie to Hardesty for too long. “Yes, I’ll admit it. Marcus made me want it. I can’t deny that. You and he made me turn that corner. What I saw in Marcus was more you than anyone else I’ve ever laid down for. Does that disgust you?”

“No. It arouses me. You like the bad boys.”

“Yes, I found that I do.”

“I’m a bad boy.”

“So, I’ve found out,” Kit said. “Are you going to be a bad boy for me again?”

“Here? Now?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think we’re being paid to fuck each other. I think the effort is supposed to go to the guests.”

“They could watch. I bet they would enjoy that—big brute putting it to helpless little guy. So, are you going to master me here?”

Hardesty didn’t answer that right away. He shifted the subject. “I understand you’ve taken Toby up on his offer to get you listed with his escort agency?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t really a shift in subject, though. “I don’t pay for sex.”

“I would never ask you to pay to fuck me. I would consider it an educational expense. You would help me do my escort duties better.”

“Well, if I don’t have to pay you, I won’t ask you to pay me,” Hardesty said. He laughed.

Kit gave him a pointed look. “I would pay you for it if it was the only way I could get it from you, Hardesty.” He continued, “Toby tells me you have some special toys. Did you bring any?”

“Want to find out?”

“Yes.” He took Hardesty’s hand and led him back to the bedrooms.

“Last bedroom on the right,” Hardesty said. “That’s where my toys are.”

Guests had been milling around them, enjoying seeing the two hot studs talking with each other. It only took a gesture from Hardesty as he guided Kit into the bedroom hall with a hand on his butt for a line of spectators to form behind them.

As they went to the hallway leading back to the bedrooms, they passed the door into the kitchen. Toby was sitting on the kitchen counter. His and the Algerian’s trousers and briefs were bunched up, mingling, on the kitchen floor in front of the counter. The Algerian was standing between Toby’s thighs. Toby’s ankles were on the beefy shoulders of the Algerian. He fists were locked behind the black bull’s neck, the Algerian’s hands were grasping Toby’s waist, and the black was fucking Toby in long, vigorous strokes. Toby had a dreamy look in his eyes. Kit knew Toby liked the black bulls. Hardesty knew that too, but he didn’t hold that against his roommate and lover. Toby always came to him when he called.

“Strip,” Hardesty growled when they entered the bedroom. When they both had, Hardesty pushed Kit down on his back on the bed and Hardesty produced a pair of leather handcuffs, which he used to bind Kit’s wrists together over his head. A sigh went up among the spectators gathered around when the handcuffs came out.

Hardesty went down on his knees, slapped Kit’s legs apart, and attacked his hole, cock, and nuts with his mouth. When Kit was heaving from waves of pleasure, Hardesty stood up from the bed and told Kit to do the same.

“Turn around, facing the bed,” Hardesty commanded.

Kit did so, but also asked, “What now? What are you going . . . Holy shit. Fuck!”

“It’s that favorite toy Toby told you about. It’s called a plow belt.” It was a thick length of black leather about four feet long, with handles at each end. Hardesty whipped it over Kit’s head, brought it down to the young man’s belly, and then jerked up, pulling Kit’s body, bent over the strip of leather, up to Hardesty’s midsection. Hardesty positioned the bulb of his erection, thrust up inside Kit’s ass, and fucked the stuffing out of him.

Murmurs of approval, pleasure, and arousal circulated among the men gathered around and watching Hardesty’s mastery of the cute, smaller man. It was quite a show.

When they’d both gotten their rocks off, Hardesty let Kit fall forward on his belly onto the bed. He pulled his belt out of his trousers, doubled it, and struck Kit several times on the back and buttocks with it.

The crowed rumbled it’s surprise and lust. Guests began embracing and freeing and stroking each other off as they watched.

“Nasty enough for you?” Hardesty growled.

“Shit, yes. Hit me again.” Hardesty complied. He rolled off his spent condom and walked around to the nightstand then, only having belted Kit enough times to get his attention and to heighten his sense of touch and his arousal. He tossed the condom in a trash can and retrieved another one from the nightstand drawer.

“Hey, look. Hopkins has stocked the place with everything anyone would need.” Kit looked over at him. Hardesty was hefty a can of grease and something that looked like an egg.

“What the hell is that?”

“You don’t know?” Hardesty waved the egg at Kit. “It’s something you should take on every escort assignment. You can please your man with this alone. It’s a Tenga Egg. Want to see how it works?”

Kit did want to see how it worked. And so, he wound up in Hardesty’s embrace on the bed, partially on top of Hardesty, with his right leg running up Hardesty’s chest and his ankle on Hardesty’s left shoulder. His other leg was bent and spread, with his foot flat on the sheet. Hardesty’s bent left leg was under Kit’s buttocks, raising the young man’s pelvis and his now-gaping hole to the mercy of Hardesty’s whims. Hardesty’s left arm encircled Kit’s waist, holding the young man immobile. Kit’s wrists were still bound behind his back.

Kit was arching his back and moaning. Hardesty had taken the yielding glob of material from inside the Tenga Egg and was jacking Kit’s cock off with it. He continued until, moaning, Kit shuddered and shot his load.

They weren’t alone on the bed. One of the guests had another bent over the bed next to where Hardesty was working on Kit and was doggy fucking him from above and behind.

“How was that?” Hardesty said as he pulled the material off Kit’s cock and playing with the young man’s hole with fingers that rubbed and penetrated, while Kit groaned.

“Nice,” Kit responded.

“But not nasty enough?”

“No, not nasty enough.” While he was being jacked off with the egg, Kit had been thinking how to include this in a story. It was too tame by itself, although being used in combination with Hardesty using it was good enough to arouse Kit here, in this circumstance. But for a story there needed to be more.

“What do you want me to do with you.”

“Fist me. Fuck me with your hand.”

“Fist him. The brute’s going to fist him,” someone in the crowd called out. Gasps went up around the room, but no one left.

Hardesty laughed. “You sure?”

“Yes. Possess me, control me with your fist. Fuck the hell out of me with your fist. Fuck me dirty. Fuck me totally.”

Hardesty laughed and reached over to the nightstand for the can of grease.

Kit groaned, murmuring, “Yes, yes, yes,” as Hardesty slowly worked his fingers in to the knuckles.

“You sure? You can open enough?”

“Yes. Do it. Put it in. Marcus’s hands were as big as yours.”

“Ian Marcus fisted you? He fucked you with his fist.”

“Yes. Fuck me. Put it in. Oh, shit, of fuck! Yes!”

Hardesty’s knuckles breached the sphincter and he was in.

Murmurings circulated around the room. “See that. His fist is in. Shit that’s hot.”

He grunted and Kit groaned as Hardesty flexed his fingers inside the passage and then start a slow fucking motion with the fist. Soon he sensed that Kit wasn’t just taking the fist but was moving on it. Hardesty held the fist steady, just rhythmically flexing the fingers as, using the leverage of his left foot, Kit rocked on the fist, moving on it, fucking himself on it.

“Pain. Ecstasy. Passion,” Kit exclaimed in a belabored voice.

“And pleasure. Don’t forget taking your pleasure. When you’re no longer getting pleasure from a cocking, stop being a whore.”

“And pleasure,” Kit cried out. “Oh shit, I’m coming!” He shot another load up his belly.

The sound of “Ahhhhh,” was audible all around the bed. The guests that had been doggy fucking on the bed were gone but another pair now were humping on the floor beside the bed.

“Fuck, I guess you really can take it,” Hardesty muttered. “Guess you’ll do fine with Toby’s escort service.”

He pulled his fist out, rolled over on top of Kit, entered him strongly, and fucked him to his own ejaculation.

“God, you’re a brute. A beast. A thug. A stud,” Kit cried out.

“Yes, yes. All of the above,” Hardesty admitted as he thrust, thrust, thrust. “That’s what you want.”

“Yes, that’s what I want.” Kit was having no trouble now weaving a Sandman story out of this in his mind.

End.