Mr. Maleficent presents... Sexual Deviance (Series 2)

Season 2, Episode 5: Standing Appointment (Erotic Short)

Synopsis: Jace and his wife Diana typically have a weekly appointment with a young, biker male escort (Stevie) for a very heterosexual threesome. But when Diana leaves the country, and Jace has forgotten to cancel, the two men take the time to bond with one another.

He came to the door fresh off of a 2010 Ducati motorcycle. He was decked out in dark blue jeans, a white T and a blue jacket that matched his wheels. And his voice... it was a smooth tenor tone. If I had to compare it to anyone, I'd say Usher. That first night, we set ground rules as you should before any threesome. I wasn't going to be touching him and he wasn't going to be touching me. He was on one side and I was wayyyyy on the other. We also designated holes. He wasn't allowed in my wife's pussy. He could fuck her in the ass and he could fuck her in the mouth... but not in her pussy. This was my wife's idea... because in the event that a condom broke, she didn't want to end up pregnant with another man's child; smart idea. And the threesome went off without a hitch.

My wife enjoyed it a lot more than she thought she would. She liked it so much that she wanted to do it again the next weekend... and the next weekend, and the next weekend and the next. We damn near had his ass on retainer. I was spending $300 a week on bringing in a nigga to help me fuck my wife. I'd started to regret it. I was often the odd man out. I was always "Daddy" in the bedroom... but now there were two "Daddies." Many of those early Saturday Night's with Steven, I watched him fuck my wife while feeling like dead weight. One time he showed up, and I had every intention of sleeping on the couch and just letting the two of them go at it alone. And I think he sensed it that day.

We had a nice man to man talk out on the front porch while my wife was upstairs overheating. He told me how he liked us as a couple, and how he wasn't trying to step on my shoes. He said that this was a job for him and he had 2 customers, not just 1. He wanted to be sure that both of us came out of this satisfied, and he was willing to go the extra mile to ensure that. Basically, he thought that I'd set too many rules in the beginning when I said we couldn't touch. So we mended the rule that night, allowing this to be a threesome and not just him and me running a train on my wife.

Omitting the 'no touching' rule was the best thing that happened for us, meaning me and my wife. We just became 3 freaks in the night. Now, we were actually able to fuck her at the same time, me in her pussy with him in her ass. He's licked her cunt while I was fucking her, so I actually felt his tongue touching my dick. He'd tea-bagged me while I was fucking my wife doggystyle. Yeah... allowing him to touch me was best because me and my wife could both enjoy Steven. We were both able to get off without the constant thought of "Was that gay?" No, it wasn't gay. It was our bedroom; our own private bedroom, where we set the rules.

But now... things were different. My wife was out of the country for the week. She had to go to Brazil for a press party. She'd told me to call Steven to cancel. And every time I thought to do it, I wasn't near my phone. Procrastination had gotten the best of me. And it didn't hit me that I'd completely forgotten until I heard his motorcycle revving out front.

Shit! I thought. I jumped up from the sofa, the television showing an old Fresh Prince of Bel Air rerun. I opened the front door and sprung out.

Steven had just turned off his motorcycle and was pulling his helmet off. He had on a leather biker jacket instead of the one he normally wore. This one looked brand new.

"Hey Jace," he said, smiling with all pearly white teeth.

"Yo, Stevie. I'm sorry man," I started.

"What's up?"

"Diana's out of town. I been meaning to call and shit, but it kept slipping my mind."

"Oh," he said, his voice seeming saddened by the news. "Where is she?"

"Rio De Janeiro."

"Damn. I wish you would've called me, man. I passed up something to come all the way out here."

"I know man, I fucked up," I apologized again. "Yo, come in. Lemme write you a check to cover it."

He sucked his teeth, upset about it all.

"Come on, man. It was my fault. I'm sorry about it. I'll give you the normal rate."

Steven got off of his bike and followed me into the house. The sun was just beginning to set outside on the hot summer day. Steven's face looked a bit darker and sweatier on account of it.

"Diana told me to call yo ass but like an idiot, I forgot. I hope you didn't turn down something big," I said, while writing out a check to him for $300.

"It wasn't too big. It's just..." he paused for a moment, exhaling as he looked out the window.

I noticed the interval in his words. After I tore the check from my checkbook, I handed it to him.

"It's just what?" I asked.

"My roommate," he said, taking the check and placing it in his biker jacket.

"What about him?"

"He's... used to me being out Saturday Nights. That's when he has date night with his girls."

"I see," I said, nodding politely.

"I don't want to be cramping his style."

"Ohhhhhhh, I got you. Well, you can crash here for the night. I was thinking about ordering a pizza anyway. You can help me eat it."

"You sure?" he asked cautiously. "You know I don't ever want to be stepping on toes and shit."

"Nah, it's no problem man. Shit, you were going to stay here anyway. You can stay in the guest room."

Steven nodded his head like the young thug he was. "Iight," he said.

"Cool," I said, walking back to the sofa and plopping down in front of the television. "There's nothing really on TV right now. The movie channels ain't showing anything I know about."

"I'm cool, man. Whatever you want to watch is fine with me," he said, sitting nearby. He sat upright, while I was a bit more lounge-y on the sofa. He sat with his elbows firmly planted on top of his knee caps; his right hand forming a fist while his left hand covered it. He had diamond rings on a couple of his fingers. He seemed tense, almost jittery. But I ignored it and kept watching the television.

On the TV, Carlton started dancing to that Tom Jones track he loved to listen to. I chuckled at it, but Steven remained stiff. A minute or so later, he finally spoke.

"Jace?" he said.

"Sup?"

"You... uh... you sure you 'forgot' to call me and cancel?"

I was taken aback by the question for a second. I didn't like the tone of his shit. It sounded like he was trying to insinuate something about me. "Yeah, I forgot man. I've been thinking that it was Friday all day, so I wasn't even thinking about you showing up." I think he sensed how my attitude shot left, even though I was trying to be cool about it.

"Alright, alright man... my bad," he said.

I knew it was tense and weird. Typically, when the two of us were together, we were with my wife. Out of the two of us, she was always the icebreaker. She could make people loosen up. Without her in the middle of Steven and me, we didn't know how to act. But in the end, it wasn't like I was the one who asked his ass to stay. I've always just been cordial to this fool.

"Well..." Steven opened up again. "You sure you don't want a massage or something?"

I turned my head to him.

"I'm just asking because it is part of the protocol. We're supposed to make sure we fulfill all services possible."

"You massage?" I asked, I must've turned up my eyebrow, subliminally doubting his skill.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I am a masseuse. It's part of the job."

"Really? You're licensed?"

"Yes, really," he smiled again.

"What all do you do?"

"Well, I escort. I'm a masseuse, I'm a model, I'm a stripper-"

"Wait-" I cut him off. "You strip?"

"Yeah," he blushed, embarrassed. "Only private parties and shit, though."

"Show me," I told him.

He laughed nervously again. "You serious?"

"Oh shit, I forgot to even ask. Do you even strip for guys?"

"I... did once," he said, not sounding too proud of that moment.

"I'm curious now. I wanna see this shit," I said.

He blushed again. "I-I-I don't even have my costume."

"As far as I can tell, you in costume right now with that leather jacket and the baggy jeans on."

He smiled all over again. I swear, I've never seen a stripper so nervous in my life. He agreed though.

"Alright- alright- alright. You got an iPod dock?" he asked.

"Nah... but you can hook the computer speakers into the headphones jack, right?"

"Yeah, I can do it that way." He got up and walked over to the desktop computer to hook up his iPod.

Thinking that Steven might need space, I dragged the coffee table to the edge of the living room and tilted it on its side so it would lie up against the wall. When I turned around, I could see Steven starting to undress. He must've unbuckled his pants while he was setting up his music, because his jeans dropped to the floor. Steven has that miracle bubble on his ass. It was defined with a solid amount of muscle, but a nice layer of fat that covered it and made it jiggle remarkably (I'd noticed that in our threesomes).

He had on these loose Brazilian trunks; loose because the tight ones probably couldn't contain all that ass. His ass crack was showing and when he turned around, his underwear was riding considerably low. After he pulled his t-shirt off, I could see that the waistline was underneath his little v cut and showing the top of his pubes.

"We gotta give it a sec to go past the intro," he said. "But sit down, sit down."

I did as he told me, and awaited the show. I'd heard things about how the male strippers get it in. A couple of my boys told me about shit they've seen on the internet about how the men be damn near fucking. The thought crossed my mind... but this motherfucka wasn't crazy. He wasn't gonna be trying to flip me over his head and mimic himself fucking me in the ass.

His intro started, a slow techno instrumental with a DJ shouting over the track. "It's time! Pull out yo motherfuckin' wallet and show some love..."

Suddenly, Steven started yelling, fully assimilated into his thugged-out stripper role. He hopped back and forth while gesturing his hands like a rapper. "It's Bam-Bam, nigga! Now watch me make yo motherfuckin' bed rock!"

The end of his chant was immediately followed by an explosion sound in his intro. He dove to the center of the carpet.

Thank God I moved that coffee table, I thought.

The intro began to make these metallic sounds like a transformer. And Steven (or Bam-Bam, whoever he was) began to flip upside down. In true stripper fashion, the song Dance (A$$) by Big Sean began to blare and this nigga was pussy popping on a handstand. I wanted to laugh, but as soon as my eyes caught the jiggle of his ass cheeks, I was just mesmerized. His ass was popping so fast, that if I were any further away, I'd swear he wasn't moving at all.

He eventually slowed down, doing a simple booty pop to the beat where his whole ass jiggled magnificently. The nigga wasn't 30 seconds in and I was convinced he was the sexiest stripper I'd ever seen. He went one-handed, and spread his legs, damn near completing a split. His ass still popped slowly to the beat, I guess to make sure I was kept in the trance that it put me in. He slowly lowered his legs back to the floor and faced me. His eyes fell on me, but all that shyness he had was gone. He'd made a complete 180 and surged into his alter ego, "Bam-Bam."

He skated, snaking his body across my carpet, surely getting rug burns on his knees. If he did, I couldn't tell. He'd slid across the floor, turning around until his back was facing me. Then, he pulled his briefs just below the dip of his ass.

"Stop! Now make that motherfucker hammer time like," the iPod blared, leading into the hook of the song.

The nigga began to make it clap to the beat... his body perfectly curving at all the right places. There was a dent in his back, which made the arch of his ass look even bigger. And when he put his face to the floor, and made his ass jump one cheek at a time, I could've nutted. God, what did I get myself into. Shit, I wanted to dive down to the floor just like he did, the only difference being that I'd bury my face into his gigantic ass.

Before Nicki Minaj's verse in the song could come on, there was another explosion. Steven jumped to his feet from his previous position, his ass still overflowing out of his underwear. An electric guitar sounded, playing its strings almost as well as Steven was playing me. He grabbed the waistband of his underwear and pulled them all the way down. He stepped out of each of the leg holes and turned around, his hand covering his semi-hard 9 inch dick. He was eyeing me down again, a deep and cold stare.

Oh shit, I thought. What the fuck is he about to do now?

It was ok to watch it from a distance, but now that he was walking to me, shit got a little funny.

"There's a meeting in my bedroom," the late 90's classic began to play. He walked closer to me with arrogance in his step, seductiveness in his posture and a mission in his eyes. He kicked my ankle gently, telling me to close my legs. I did, and lord, why did I do that? Before I knew it, this nigga was straddling me, face to face. I kicked my head back as far as possible, pasting myself to the sofa and trying to create as much distance as I could. He didn't let that faze him. He kept right on doing his thing.

His dick was now at full length, sitting on top of my t-shirt.

"Whoa," I said, finding that his nervous laughter had transferred to me.

Steven grabbed a fist full of my t-shirt, and slid his dick underneath it. His dick flesh was lying right up against my abdomen. Then, he placed both hands on my t-shirt like he was clutching the reigns of a horse and began to ride. His body made the natural stripper wave that led with his chest, driveled to his abdomen and finalized at his hips. And he was biting his lip, with his eyes closed.

Oh my God, I thought, shocked. And I was pissed that my dick wasn't responding the same way my mind was. My shit was throbbing, and I knew he could feel it. Shit, he was sitting right on top of it, and it flexed every time his ass completed the body roll and landed back on it. I admit it, I fucked up. There was slime leaking onto my stomach. This nigga was pre-cumming, and I'm sure he was no longer stripping. With his eyes closed while he's hitting that long stroke? Nah, this nigga was humping.

Steven hissed and followed it up with a deep moan.

"You wanna grab my ass nigga?" he said.

No lie, I did.

"I be seeing you looking at my ass nigga, grab that shit. Put them rough hands all up on this soft booty, nigga."

I thought before I made that move. My hand barely lifted from the sofa and found itself making contact with Steven's huge, hairless thigh. My finger followed the trail, merely grazing his left ass cheek and he melted into my chest. All space between us was gone. His head was turned to his right and lodged up against my left shoulder. His hands rested at both sides of my waist. He didn't move anymore. He only allowed me to rub all over his ass, exploring his soft mountains.

One of our hearts was racing, while the other was a steady tempo. I could feel both of them on my chest. I wished the one beating quicker was his. I took a deep breath, an exhale that stretched into the room. It was followed by another sweetly seductive moan from Steven. I smacked his ass, he hissed once again.

"Ssss... oh, daddy..."

Fuuuuuckkkk.... "Yo, you can't be doing this to me right now," I said.

"I'm not doing anything," he said, pulling his head off my shoulder. "I'm just following your lead." He bit his lip one last time, his beady eyes looking at me alluringly.

My hand left his ass cheek so quickly, and I placed my thumb right at the center of the minor cleft in his chin, while the rest of my hand hooked under his jaw. I pulled him in and kissed him. We kissed nonstop. My hand found its way back to his fat bubble ass and his arms locked around my neck. "Meeting in my bedroom" went off, and the kiss never broke. He moaned into my mouth; I groaned back into his. When he stroked the back of my head with his thumb, I stroked his asshole with mine.

His tongue flicked my top row teeth as I was still inhaling the air that he breathed. I broke the kiss from him. He looked confused.

"Aiight," I said, managing to peel my hands off his ass and regain some control over my body. "As good as this is, we need to discuss something real quick."

"Iight," he said.

"This might sound like...uh... a dumb ass question, but are you bi?"

"I'm an employee," he answered sharply.

"Ok... does that mean that you are?"

"I'm an employee," he gave the same answer.

"So... that means that you are whatever I want you to be?"

"For the night..."

This was risky. Now I had other questions, like "how many times do niggas pay to fuck you up the ass?" Not only did I want to ask that for my sake, but for my wife's. This nigga been fuckin' her up the ass for years. Suddenly another dimension to his lifestyle was open. I didn't want to go there with it, and kill the mood entirely, so I kept it vague.

"You always take care of yourself, right?" I asked.

He knew exactly what I meant, and exactly what I was asking. He looked me in the eye like he wanted me to see the truth before he answered. "Always."

"Ok," and that was what I needed to hear. "Let's go upstairs."

He backed off of me and stood up. His dick had a thick lather of pre-cum at its head, and in backing up the sticky goo left a trail on my jeans and a pool underneath my shirt. As he turned, I caught the side view of his ass again.

"Hold it," I said.

"Yeah?"

I scooted over, leaning my face forward so I could bite it. A gentle bite, but a good enough bite that I could feel it's toughness in my teeth.

"Sssss... ah, you like that?" he asked.

"Fuck yeah." I got up behind him. I unfastened my pants so they dropped just as quickly to the floor as his did earlier.

While he walked over to his jeans to pull a condom and his lubricant out, I pulled off my t-shirt and my underwear. Before we hit the stairs, we were 2 butt naked ass fools. He walked up the steps first because I wanted to see the jiggle in that ass one last time before I started banging it. He hit the top step and began to turn right until I stopped him.

"No," I said. I pointed left, to the guest room. "This way."

This story is a copyright by Mr. Maleficent of the Maleficent Journal and an act of complete fiction. Please always remember to wrap it up.

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