The Tait Chronicles

[I fear it's time to hear from my ex-lover again. Martin Solomon is probably the most promiscuous man on earth. While Matt and I have been happily establishing a flourishing business and a deep and committed private relationship, Martin has been doing what Martin does best. Screwing almost anything with a pulse! I'll let him tell you in his own words. Who knows? He may even tell the truth.]

For an unattached guy in his late forties, sex gradually becomes more difficult. I'm not referring to erectile dysfunction - I can still get it up and keep it up. I'm referring to the decline in opportunities.

I've morphed into the kind of guy I pointedly avoided in my youth. I can remember rejecting advances from men with thinning hair and thickening waistlines. I recall the occasions when I might grudgingly allow an "old" guy to blow me, but that was an activity of last resort.

Nowadays, I cruise the beats far less often. I still want to but it does nothing for my ego to be passed over or ignored. Sure, other mature guys might be welcoming, but I crave young dicks and the taste of youthful cum. So I increasingly avail myself of escort services.

I have no scruples about paying for sex. That way there is no fear of rejection. Rejection becomes increasingly hard to bear as one grows older.

Thus it was that I came to call my usual agency one Saturday night.

'Hi, Mr Solomon' came Billy's voice at the other end of the line. 'The usual?'

'No' I replied. 'Not tonight. I'm looking for something different.'

I could envisage Billy's mind racing though the possibilities. As the agency's desk jockey, he had sent me a vast range of guys over the past few years.

At various times I'd specified young, black, long, thick, white, foreign - you name it. The only consistent specifications had been that I be penetrated bare-back and by someone uncut.

'What do you have in mind?'

'Well, I know what I don't want, Billy. I don't want any of the guys who work out to keep in good shape and who arrive here smothered in cologne and deodorant. And I don't want a guy who sees himself as a male model or God's gift.

I want someone almost primitive. A savage.'

'Mmm. Mr Solomon, I'm not sure we have anyone on our books like that. We pride ourselves on how gorgeous our guys are and we encourage them to maintain high standards. Seems to me you're looking for a bit of rough trade.'

'That's exactly what I want' I said. 'I want someone who hasn't come straight from a shower; someone who hasn't bothered to shave for a day or so; someone who has no interest in being polite.'

'I'm sorry' Billy said. "I don't think we can help you at short notice. Can you leave it with me?'

'Leave it with you for how long?' I demanded. 'I'm standing here buck-naked and horny as hell. I want to be roughed up right now. I want some hot, unsophisticated and energetic guy to fuck me into the middle of next week.'

Billy promised to call me back within an hour. He didn't hold out any real hope but he said he'd do what he could. I had to be content with that. In the interim, I decided to knock off a few beers.

When I drink, my mind tends to drift to the good old days; the days when I - Martin Solomon - seldom went without sex for a few hours; the times when I had the area's biggest uncut dicks at my beck and call.

I reminisce about Andy and his gigantic cock and stupendous balls.

I remember nights at the Paradise Club when guys formed a line to fuck me and fist me and share their piss. If only I could turn back time.

Some fifty minutes passed. I was on my third beer and beginning to feel depressed when the telephone finally shrilled into life. It was Billy.

'We might have something for you' he said. 'Not a guy we've ever used before, but I think he meets your requirements.'

'Where'd you find him?' I asked.

'Umm - he just happened to be in the vicinity. I can't tell you much more. His name's Vince. He's in his early twenties. Tall, solid build and he assures me he's uncut. He's never worked for us before but he seems eager.'

'OK' I said. 'Send him over. The usual price?'

'Umm - no. This is a special, Mr Solomon. Vince wants far more than we would usually pay and so I have to pass that cost along.'

He mentioned an obscene amount but I said that would be OK. It costs more to get a guy who'll go bare-back - I'm used to that - and I guess it costs even more to get someone who "just happened to be in the vicinity".

Once I'd given my card details and the transaction had been approved, Billy told me that Vince would be at my door in about thirty minutes.

When it came, the knock on my door marked the beginning of an incredible night in.

Vince looked about twenty-two or three, way over six feet tall and around 200 pounds. He had the physique of a heavy labourer and an aroma to match. When he removed his leather jacket, the pungent smell of honest sweat was an aphrodisiac to my nostrils.

His jeans were grubby, as were his boots, and he had several days of stubble on his face. Not designer stubble - just good old-fashioned unshaven facial hair.

His voice was a low grumble. I was hard from the moment I saw him.

I was even harder when I heard that growl.

There was very little conversation between us. Having been ushered through to the lounge room, Vince made it clear he had no interest in polite preliminaries. He was supremely indifferent to my nakedness and my throbbing cock.

'What do you want to do?' he asked, and I could smell cheap booze on his breath.

'I want you to fuck me without mercy but, before that, I want you naked so I can roam all over your body with my hands, lips and tongue.'

Without a word, Vince began undressing.

He removed his clothes quickly, efficiently and untidily. His boots were kicked across the room and his socks, shirt and jeans were flung to the floor. He was about to shuck off his shorts when I stopped him.

'No' I cried. 'Leave your pants on. I'll remove them.'

I dropped to my knees in front of him. He was a hairy guy. Not grossly so - there was no hair on his back or shoulders - but there was luxuriant chest fur and his legs were hairy too. So different from the immaculately groomed guys the agency usually sent my way.

I buried my face in his shorts. He was definitely not wearing freshly laundered underwear. I could detect the odours of stale urine, a musky ball-sac and an unwashed dick.

Through the flimsy cotton of his shorts, I used my lips and hands to trace a weighty cock that swelled to the touch, and a generous pair of balls. I inhaled deeply before slowly pulling down his pants.

He stepped out of them and his dick was rampant before my eyes.

I resisted the temptation to go straight for his heavily veined and hefty cock. Instead, I fondled and squeezed his hairy scrotum. Not the biggest I'd ever encountered, but definitely impressive. And the smell was to die for.

The musky, sweaty smell of unwashed balls - I was in heaven. I took them in my mouth one at a time, delighting in the saltiness and the aroma.

Vince did not do what other guys do. He didn't hold my head to guide me in any way. It was obvious that he had no interest in tenderness or mutual touching. That was exactly what I wanted.

I raised my head and turned my attention to his dick. It was an impressive weapon. Very thick at the base and plenty thick along the shaft. At a guess, around eight inches in total and with a substantial knob at the end, a knob shrouded by a magnificent foreskin.

I took it in my mouth. Again a musky smell and the tang of salt. I could also detect the odour of smegma. Not ancient smegma, but the aroma was pungent enough to assure me that Vince hadn't washed properly for several days.

Filled with anticipation - I used one hand to peel back his prodigious foreskin. The glans was red with a shiny raw moistness.

It had a small creamy smear on it, but the bulk of his secretions were gathered around the corona of that giant knob. There were crystalline clusters and several creamy accretions that I longed to taste.

Firstly, I used my tongue to lap up every smear and glob. I savoured every speck. Each tiny morsel tasted as good as it smelled.

People often dismiss this heavenly substance as ghastly dick-cheese but it's not an apt description. I'm a fan of good cheese - I love my gorgonzola and blue-vein - but they have been processed to some degree. I prefer something more organic and natural.

What lies beneath an untended foreskin is akin to mother's milk. It's raw and it's mind-blowing; it is both erotic and highly exotic. It has more texture and taste than cum or piss. It makes me feel as though I am literally eating a guy.

Having feasted on the head of Vince's cock, I engulfed his shaft once more, taking him to the back of my throat and burying my nose in a rancid tangle of thick pubic hair. Pre-cum began to leak from him. It was time to move on.

I had no wish to be bedded. I wanted to be fucked savagely and without the comfort of pillows and a mattress.

I released his dick and rose to look Vince in the eye. His gaze never faltered. It was hard to read him. There was no trace of fear or lust or contempt. Nothing. Just a calm, even gaze.

'Have you done this sort of thing before?' I asked.

'No. Not with a guy.'

'So why now?'

'I need the money. Billy's a distant cousin. He rang me. I was in a bar. I said I'd do it for five hundred bucks.'

I'd paid a grand to the agency. They obviously maintain a high profit margin.

'Vince' I said, 'I'm going to bend over and you're going to ram your cock up my ass. OK?'

He nodded.

I moved to the coffee table and used it to support my arms as I leaned downwards with my knees bent. Vince didn't ask about lube. I didn't want lube anyway. I wanted it to feel as raw and primitive as possible. If I couldn't be raped, then I wanted the next best thing.

Vince positioned himself behind me. He didn't attempt to grasp my hips. I felt his cock prodding at me ineffectually. I reached behind to grasp it and guide it to my hungry asshole. I wriggled and squirmed until the head of his dick was in just the right spot.

He pushed forward rather tentatively and without success. I heard him spit into his hand and then the head of his dick reappeared - all slicked up - at my entry point. Nothing tentative the second time. He finally grabbed hold of me and burst his way in like a ballistic missile.

Did it hurt? Christ yes. It was a searing agony. It was just what I yearned for. I screamed, but not in pain. My scream was a sound of delight. Vince couldn't know this however. He stopped.

'You want me to keep going?'

'Fuck yeah. Keep right on going. Pummel me. Brutalise me. Ride me ragged.'

And he did. I don't know whether Vince was usually a stayer. I only know he stayed a deliciously long time on this particular night. He bucked and he thrust and he heaved, constantly ravaging my happy, agonised asshole with his thick, rock-hard eight inches.

Without any prompting, Vince began to rain down blows on me as we fucked. My buttocks were slapped - hard - and I received a few solid punches too. It was bliss.

And then Vince suddenly grew vocal. Words like faggot and fairy flew through the air. I learned that I am a "sad sack of shit" and a "pathetic pussy Jew-boy". I learned that he hated me and was determined to make me suffer in the grasp of a "real man".

Every word was music to my ears. I thrilled to the pleasures of total degradation.

At one stage, Vince withdrew and grabbed my hair to turn me around and draw me upwards. When I reached eye-level he slapped my face and aimed a gob of phlegm at me. Then he pushed me downwards to kneel and take his raging hard-on into my mouth again.

I swallowed it hungrily. It was streaming pre-cum and I could taste my ass as well. I might gladly have stayed that way until he ejaculated, but he grasped my hair once more and dragged my head away. He lifted me up and then flung me to the floor. I landed heavily but I also landed happily.

He was upon me instantly, pulling my hips upward, inserting his legs between my thighs and then thrusting that massive uncut cock deep inside me once more.

This time he was far rougher than before. Sometimes he withdrew completely and then rammed his dick home again. The pace picked up. He was speeding and my ass was singing with joy.

His balls no longer bounced against me. I reached behind with one hand. His scrotum had tightened. I knew the end was nigh. It was a torment of ecstasy. I wanted his cum to spurt deep within me; but I also wanted this fabulous slam-fuck to last forever.

Vince was still hurling abuse at me but his breathing had become laboured. His thrusts became more urgent and I could smell every pore of his body as he exuded sweat.

Without warning, he placed an arm across my windpipe and began to choke me. At the same time, I felt his entire body convulse and his cock thrust even harder and deeper inside me. I felt that glorious, thick, uncut eight-incher pulse and flex as it discharged its load.

I hoped he was blowing a significant wad. I imagined it spurting from the eye of his dick and flooding my gut. I imagined a warm torrent of creamy white cum. I hoped it was the biggest load I'd ever received.

I also hoped that Vince would relax his hold on my neck. Being choked was fine as a momentary accompaniment to his ejaculation. Being choked indefinitely was not so fine. I'd wanted it rough, but I also wanted to survive the experience.

Fortunately, Vince withdrew his strangling arm at the same time as he withdrew his cock. He did not leave my asshole slowly or gently. Indeed, he was still half-hard as he ripped his dick from my ravaged and cum-filled playpen.

As he abruptly separated our bodies and got to his feet, I collapsed to the floor.

'Had enough?' he panted. 'Can I go now?'

I forced my trembling knees to work so I could stand and face him.

'I don't know what Billy told you, Vince, but I expect my guys to stay as long as I want them. The whole night usually. We've only just begun.'

His only response was a grunt and a shrug. He plonked himself down on the nearest armchair, with his legs splayed apart. His junk gleamed moistly and it was gradually growing flaccid.

As I watched, a few tears of cum escaped his dick and settled on the immaculate chair upholstery. I made a mental note to leave the stain there forever as a memento.

He glanced down at his crotch and growled that he was of no further use to me.

'Bullshit' I exclaimed. 'You can still be very useful indeed.'

At that, I knelt down between his thighs and took his cock into my mouth. I didn't expend much energy. My attentions were not insistent. I just sucked and licked him slowly, caressing his shaft with my lips and probing his foreskin with my tongue.

There was another droplet of cum for me to savour and there was the taste of my own arse to enjoy. Above all else, there was the rich aroma of his gamey scrotum. He smelled just like a sweaty, cum-drenched and acrid fart.

Vince remained silent but his dick eventually began to respond. It began to swell in my mouth, thickening at the base and hardening against my palate. It grew until it reached the back of my throat.

I was just about to give him one of my best head-jobs when he violently whacked my left ear. He struck so hard it made my head spin.

'I need to take a leak' he announced, pushing me away and rising to his feet.

'OK. Follow me and I'll show you to the bathroom. But you're not going to piss in the john, Vince. You're going to piss all over me in the shower.'

It was difficult to tell if he was revolted or excited by this. His face remained expressionless. But - to his credit - he did exactly as I asked. I crouched on the tiled floor as he directed a stream of urine all over me.

My face, my hair, my body - every part of me was drenched in a steady flow of warm piss. I was ecstatic. His cock was now fully erect so the flow was not even - it was more of a spray than a torrent.

When he was almost done, I took him in my mouth once more and swallowed the last few spurts.

By this time I regarded Vince as the ideal casual partner. If this was rough trade then I loved it - whatever the price. There was no wasted emotion and no pretence. It was only a transaction as far as he was concerned. And that suited me just fine.

I wanted to abase myself. I wanted to be used. I enjoyed being treated like a lump of unfeeling meat. This man demanded nothing of me. He didn't want fine words or the intricacies of some slow seduction.

He was being paid to jettison his body fluids in and over some desperate faggot. He saw that as his only duty toward me. He was entirely perfect. He was just what I needed.

I stayed kneeling on the floor of the shower and encouraged Vince to fuck my mouth. Most of his urine had drained away but my body and hair were still pissy. I am an expert cock-sucker but he was an inconsiderate suckee.

It meant nothing to him that I couldn't breathe and deep-throat at the same time. I gasped in whatever air I could between strokes. I did my best to keep my teeth out of his way but I'm not sure he cared. He just thrust with all his might. A very single-minded person really.

He wanted to shoot another load and he didn't much care about collateral damage.

I could tell when Vince was close to ejaculating. I didn't want this to happen too soon. I wanted this splendid animal to amuse me the whole night long. I drew my head away from his groin and got him to face away from me.

'Don't get ideas' he growled. 'I'm a giver, not a taker.'

'Oh, you won't mind taking this' I assured him, parting his cheeks and finding his tight asshole with my tongue.

Vince obviously hadn't bathed in a while. The hairs around his hole were not squeaky clean and they smelled of stale shit. I licked and probed and groomed him thoroughly, just as a mother cat does with her kittens.

I could sense his tenseness initially, but he loosened up completely once my talented tongue began its teasing of his freshly-cleaned pucker. He even let loose a sigh at one stage. He may not have wanted a dick inside him but he was obviously happy to admit a wicked tongue.

As I tongued his asshole, I used one hand to play with his heavy testicles and to jack-off his cock. When I sensed that he was close to ejaculation, I pulled away.

I told him I'd finish him off back in the lounge room. He followed me there, his substantial dick bobbing all the way.

This time I sat in an armchair - the same one he'd stained with cum - and he stood in front of me, fucking my mouth as energetically as before. I didn't care if it was a struggle to breathe adequately and I didn't care that my jaws ached.

My entire focus was on encouraging this primitive man to blow his load. I wanted to swallow every drop. The only down-side was that I did not expect there'd be much to swallow as he'd already ejaculated once that night.

I was wrong. Vince still gave me a good load to enjoy. I encouraged him to thrust as far and as hard as possible when he was on the brink. And I gulped it down greedily. I kept him in my mouth until he had no more to give.

Once his cock was removed, I kept the last few drops on my tongue, savouring the warm creamy saltiness before swallowing.

Once I'd swallowed those last drops, Vince gave me further proof of his single-mindedness.

'So - can I go now?'

'I guess so' I replied. 'I'm not really done with you though. I wish you could fuck me till sunrise. I wish there were ten of you so I could be fucked continuously.'

Vince considered this statement for a few seconds.

'You want me to come back tomorrow night?' he asked.

'I would love you to come back tomorrow night.'

'Would you like me to bring along another guy? Keep you busy?'

'I would love you to bring along another guy. One just like yourself. In fact, you can turn up with an entire Marine Corps as long as they've got nice big uncut dicks and balls full of jizz.'

Vince considered this for a few moments too. I don't think the guy has a sense of humour but, hey, none of us is perfect.

'I'll be back tomorrow. Same time.'

I agreed and suggested we not go through Billy any more. I explained that he'd been ripped off; that I'd paid the agency a thousand bucks and he was only getting half that amount. He didn't seem resentful.

Maybe he was accustomed to being ripped off by life in general. Maybe he just doesn't know how to express emotions. Who knows?

Vince finished dressing and I gave him an extra fifty dollars cash as he was leaving. I told him not to bother about showering tomorrow. I assured him that I liked him just as he was.

He didn't react at all; neither to the fifty bucks nor to the comment about showering. Not another word was spoken. This guy was like the Sphinx - inscrutable and immovable.

However little attention he gave to personal hygiene, Vince certainly didn't stint on car maintenance. His sedan sat outside gleaming in the moonlight and it purred gently into life and cruised quietly out of my driveway.

I thought about showering but decided against it. I was happy to wear eu de Vince for a few hours. I tossed back another beer and then went to bed.

As I fell asleep, it hit me that I hadn't shot a load yet myself. But that didn't seem to bother me at all. I had an aching asshole and I was full of another guy's cum. I was content.

The next morning I scrubbed myself clean in the bathtub. My early-morning visit to the john had resulted in a significant dollop of stale cum exiting my ass. It was a happy reminder of the previous evening but I wasn't sure I wanted to repeat the experience.

I was like the guy in the donut shop; the guy who loves donuts but - when only chocolate donuts are available - he wants cinnamon instead. I was pretty sure Vince wouldn't be back. Even if it paid well, fucking middle-aged guys wasn't his cup of tea.

I was wrong. Vince did return, as did my desire for some more rough trade. But Vince didn't return alone the following night.

He brought four buddies with him. They weren't exactly peas in a pod but all four of his friends shared Vince's disdain for glad-rags and grooming.

As I ushered them into the lounge room I began to panic. It was like hosting five members of a bikie gang. I'd been gang-banged before - many times - and willingly - but only by fellow gay guys; never by a posse of straight thugs.

Vince told his buddies to take a seat. He caught my eye and indicated that he wanted to talk to me in private. So I took him to the kitchen.

'Here's the deal' he said. 'You give me two thousand bucks and you can have all five of us for the night.'

'Umm - Vince; I hate to be a party-pooper, but I don't have two thousand in cash just sitting around the house.'

'Last night, when he hired me to visit you, Billy told me you're a rich dude. "Money to burn" he said.'

'Even so, I don't have that much cash on hand. I'd need to visit a teller machine.'

'OK. I'll drive you there.'

'And leave your four friends to ransack my house? Do you think I'm stupid?'

'Dude, if we wanted to trash your house we would. Whether you're here or not.'

I couldn't argue with his logic, but I still wasn't totally convinced. Moreover, I was no longer certain that I really wanted a five-on-one fuck-fest. Sometimes my imagination exceeds my abilities.

'Have they done this sort of thing before?' I asked. 'Have any of them been with a guy before?'

'I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Some guys occasionally hustle to earn a few bucks. It's not the sort of thing we talk about. Ask them yourself. What does it matter? They're here, aren't they? Do you need their life histories?'

'How much are you paying them?' I asked.

'They're getting two hundred each. The rest is mine. I put the deal together. They're happy. Two hundred is money for jam. They'd fuck a rotting corpse for just twenty.'

I wasn't happy with the comparison. Somehow I just don't see myself as being on a par with decaying corpses.

'What have you told them?' I asked.

He sighed deeply - the closest he'd yet come to expressing emotion.

'That you like dick. That you like being fucked - bare-back. That you like sucking cock and being pissed on. That you've got a tight ass. That you give good head. That's about it.'

I felt quite proud after that little speech. Vince had given rave reviews to his friends. Vince - whose good opinion I wouldn't value just a day earlier - thought I was a good fuck. Wow. I was suddenly keen to drive to the nearest cash dispenser.

Vince warned his buddies not to touch a thing while we were gone. I told them to help themselves to the beer and make themselves at home. And then Vince and I drove off into the night.

About thirty minutes later, we were all gathered in my lounge room again. As far as I could tell, nothing had been disturbed other than the television and my booze fridge.

Each guy had a beer in his hand and they were all glued to a soft porn movie on cable. There were already four empty cans on the floor - crumpled and tossed aside.

Like any self-respecting alcoholic, I keep my bar well-stocked. I hoped there would be enough to keep these guys happy.

While Vince got himself a beer, I took the opportunity to check out my unexpected guests. They were all around Vince's age. I only got to sort out their names as the night wore on, but I may as well introduce them to you now.

There were two Waynes.

Wayne A was in his early twenties, I guess. Twenty-five max. He had sandy hair over which he'd jammed a tattered beanie. He wore jeans that had seen better days. (In fact, they all wore jeans that had seen better days. And they all wore scruffy boots or joggers too. It was like a uniform.)

Wayne A was tall and gangly. He was also lean to the point of emaciation and in dire need of some dermabrasion. He had a straggly moustache and surprisingly beautiful blue eyes. He wore a jacket that had never been washed or dry-cleaned. But, given a good scrub and some nourishing food, Wayne A could be almost handsome.

Wayne B - also twenty-ish - was in no danger of ever being handsome. The monobrow didn't help. Nor did his vacant expression.

He was of average build and height and his dark brown hair was abundant and curly. His best point - and the one most immediately apparent - was that he had excellent teeth. I suspect this was a genetic bonus; I doubt he was heavily into brushing and flossing. He seemed far too vacant to prioritise oral hygiene.

The third newbie was JB. He'd obviously not been christened that way, but JB was what he answered to. Maybe his real name was Jeremiah Bumble, in which case one can understand the preference for initials only.

Anyway, JB was actually the cleanest of them all - at least he appeared so on the surface. His hoodie looked brand-new and his brown hair was almost tidy. I'd say he was about twenty, maybe twenty-one - no older.

He had piercings in his lower lip, left eyebrow and nose. Not huge chunky bits of metal, but piercings nonetheless. I don't like piercings. I don't like tattoos either. Later that night, I was to discover that both JB and Wayne B had brightly illustrated arms and torsos but, by then, I was beyond caring.

The final newcomer was Coop. His surname was Cooper but they all called him Coop. I think it was something to do with the late, lamented Gary Cooper. I'm not sure.

I remember reading somewhere that the real Gary Cooper was extraordinarily well-hung. If so, it was appropriate that Coop inherit the nickname; for, as I was to discover later, Coop had a massive dick hidden beneath his scruffy exterior.

He was a very blond youth - almost albino really - and he was obviously the youngest of the group. Beneath the mask of grime, I could see that he was almost pretty. And his eyes were as blue as Wayne A's. The colour of corn-flowers.

He may have been eighteen. He may have been even younger. I didn't ask. Best not to.

There was precious little conversation. Before taking his first swig of beer, Vince used the remote to kill the TV and issued a command to his buddies.

'OK guys. Ditch the threads. Get naked. Let's show Marty what we've got for him.'

Almost as one, the four new guys started stripping off. Clothes and footwear were flung aside and the room quickly acquired an atmosphere of sweat and unleashed testosterone. It was a heady mix. It was an aphrodisiac. As Vince slowly removed his own clothes, I studied the smorgasbord avidly.

To my relief, none of them was hung like a chicken and not one of them was circumcised. In that regard at least, Vince had chosen well.

Some of us are growers, and some of us are showers, so it was not immediately apparent how big their dicks were. Coop was the exception, of course; even at rest, his cock was mouth-wateringly thick and long. And his balls were significant too.

I wondered why anyone so young and skinny should be blessed with such abundant junk.

Vince moved first. He stood facing my armchair and offered me his dick. It was already hard and there was a bead of pre-cum glistening in its eye. His balls hung low and heavy and my mouth moved forward like a homing pigeon.

The other guys gathered around my chair and watched quietly as I demonstrated my oral skills on their friend's junk. They watched as I sucked on his balls one by one and they watched as I flicked my tongue at the pre-cum he was producing in a steady stream.

I used my hands to explore each onlooker's assets. It was glaringly obvious that none of them was experiencing any revulsion or disgust. Every cock was rock-hard and no one drew away from my touch.

Only Coop's dick was bigger than Vince's. It must have been close to nine inches long and it was fat and hefty; as were his balls. The others - like me - were all around the six or seven inch mark.

Wayne A's was surprisingly thick. JB's sported a Prince Albert piercing. No surprise there really. If a guy pierces his face then why not his dick too?

Wayne B's cock was probably the smallest of all but it was still more than adequate.

One by one, each guy took a turn in front of me. I relished each fresh dick and I especially relished each fresh foreskin. Perhaps fresh is the wrong word to use because not one of them smelled remotely fresh. Not that I minded.

They were all new, all "fresh" to me and I was high on the smell of musky ball-sacs and unkempt foreskins.

Only Coop had nothing to contribute in the way of gunk or smegma; perhaps because his dick was so large - even on the slack - that his foreskin never really came forward; it rested permanently behind the coronal ridge. Maybe he even washed occasionally.

It intrigued me that none of the guys made a move to touch each other. They jacked off while watching me suck dick, but no one offered a buddy a helping hand. I guess this was in accord with their personal morality.

It might be OK to take money for letting a faggot use your body, but it would be a bit "gay" to touch a friend's junk. I understood this view and respected it.

Again it was Vince who actually got the show on the road. I was happily slurping on Coop's prodigious endowment when Vince abruptly pulled him away from me.

'Lean over the chair' he growled at me. 'And spread your legs.'

I did as he said. I heard him spit into his hand and then I felt his engorged knob poised at the entry to my ass. He held my hips tightly and surged his way inside. It was just as painful as the night before but I gloried in it.

I gasped and started thrusting backwards to meet him as he thrust forward. It wasn't long before the pain became pleasure. I was being ruthlessly and vigorously fucked by a guy who reeked of sweat. It was wonderful.

At each opportunity, I reached out a hand to grasp the dicks grouped around me. They were all hard and weeping at the tip. I found myself praying that no one would shoot his load into the air. I wanted every load to be discharged in my gut or my throat. No wastage. No drop spilled outside my body.

I manoeuvred so that I was no longer bent over the armchair. I leaned downwards, unsupported, and drew Wayne A towards me. I took his thick dick in my mouth and deep-throated him. He began to fuck my face at a frantic pace.

There was no time to pull away. No opportunity to slow him down. Suddenly he was ejaculating. I captured every spurt and swallowed the lot. His cum was delicious. Thick, creamy, semi-sweet and - above all - copious.

He certainly blew a load. I was disappointed that he hadn't blown it up my ass, but I nonetheless appreciated the cocktail I'd swallowed.

Meanwhile, Vince was hammering away at my rear. And he was getting close to the finishing line too.

I was chowing down on Wayne B's cock when Vince's breathing grew ragged. Soon I could feel his dick expanding and pulsing as his cum jetted into me. He didn't linger long. He withdrew hastily and called upon Coop to take his place.

Mere words cannot begin to describe the way I felt when Vince summoned Coop. I have never really recovered from the loss of an ex-lover - Andrew Tait. Andy had the biggest cock I've ever seen or touched.

It was a tad more than eleven inches long and gloriously thick. It filled me entirely. I worshipped it and I have never encountered its equal.

Coop's fat nine-incher was well short of Andy's endowment but it was still big enough to excite me. It would be the biggest I'd hosted since my last fuck with Andrew. I craved every throbbing inch of it.

Coop didn't mess around. Generally, I would have needed lube to accommodate such a whopper, but Vince had already opened me up and my fuck-chute was already filled with his lubricious cum.

Coop shoved himself straight into me - to the max. Even though I was prepared for it - even though I longed for it - I was still shocked by his immensity. Longer than Vince's dick - and far thicker too - Coop's weapon took my breath away.

But he neither knew nor cared about that. He just wanted to unleash in a warm, tight space.

Like a jack-hammer, Coop pounded away at my ass. He was so vigorous that I had to place my hands on my knees to stay upright. It was difficult to maintain oral contact with Wayne B's dick. I gave up and surrendered to the behemoth in my rectum.

It wasn't a prolonged fuck. Within a few minutes, I felt Coop's cock swell even thicker and I knew he was about to unload. He grabbed my shoulders and pounded away like a madman. A gasp or two and I could sense his juices flooding inside me.

I clenched on his shaft and milked it furiously. He didn't immediately grow limp. I would have been happy to clench on his dick indefinitely, but he withdrew abruptly and called upon Wayne B to take his place.

Wayne B blew his wad in a matter of seconds. He was in me barely long enough for me to take JB's cock in my mouth and wonder at the strangeness of a piercing hitting my teeth, tongue and palate.

I can't say that Wayne B's dick had much impact upon me - it was so much smaller than the two that had gone before. But I think he blew a shitload inside me. I felt a trickle down my thighs as he withdrew. It was JB's turn.

I've already confessed that I don't much like piercings and I have to say it's annoying to have a Prince Albert clattering against one's teeth. I must also confess, however, that it's quite exciting to have a pierced cock up your ass.

I found myself picturing JB's piercing scraping the walls of my rectum. It didn't hurt; it was smooth and rounded and it added an extra dimension to being penetrated. I guess it's similar to the studded and ribbed condoms that some people enjoy inside them.

But JB's Albert was far more noticeable than a mere ridge or a bump. I loved it. I was almost sorry when he shot his load.

It would be tedious to describe each and every activity and combination of that memorable night. Once every guy had fucked me, things grew more random. There was no longer any sense of orderliness.

The guys no longer took turns in any regular sequence. Whoever felt hard and horny would simply invade my mouth or my ass and go for it.

I think some element of self-loathing may have entered their collective consciousnesses. Suddenly it became important to them that I be degraded.

Punches were thrown at me. Everything became rougher and even vicious. I was a pathetic faggot Jew-boy. I was scum. I deserved to be humiliated. Humiliating me helped bolster their sense of being macho and butch.

At some point I realised that things were out of control. I was no longer their client. I had become their prey.

Vince was caught up in the frenzy. The previous evening he had treated me with a degree of respect. Now, in front of his buddies, he was more intent on proving his manhood; demonstrating to all that he was no homo; that he was only doing this for money.

I was continuously penetrated to the point of exhaustion. Nothing I hadn't done before but never so roughly and never accompanied by blows and vile abuse. I was pissed on by the entire gang and even kicked repeatedly in the shower.

The odd thing about all this is that I felt I deserved it all. I have few redeeming qualities - perhaps none at all - and I've done some wicked things and hurt a great many guys over the years. Hence my craving to be raped and humiliated occasionally. But the violence of that night was perhaps a step too far.

They left eventually. I crawled off to bed with jizz and piss in every orifice. I stank. I knew I'd be covered in bruises for the next few days and I suspected that one of my cheekbones was fractured.

But I was not unhappy. Every penetration had been a blessing really. I live to be fucked and I can hardly complain if rough trade turns out to be a bit rougher than I'd anticipated.

Vince rang me a day or so later. He had no sense that things had got out of hand with him and his buddies. He genuinely expected that we'd all get together again. And he was right.

To him it would always be just a commercial transaction. His mates saw it similarly. I was their cash cow and all it cost them was a few fluid ounces of cum and a pint or so of urine.

It didn't really cost me anything. I'm rich. I can afford Vince's fees. I'm determined to wallow in abject humiliation from time to time. It's in my DNA. Maybe there'll always be a Vince in my life - Vince and a group of his buddies - or someone just like them.

Don't pity me. I may be pitiable, perhaps, but I am what I am. I have to accept and embrace this.

No one lives forever. One day they'll cremate me or lay me in the ground. It amuses me to imagine my epitaph.

"Here lies Martin Solomon - a sexual legend. In his lifetime he accommodated several miles of uncut cock and countless gallons of semen."

And there's also that which can't be carved in stone or etched in bronze. My epitaph can't mention the only man I truly loved; the only lover whose cock made me truly happy - Andrew Charles Tait.

It doesn't matter. His name is forever engraved on my heart - yes, I do have one - and I'll forever sing his praises in whatever Heaven or hell receives my spirit.

I'm feeling mellow and sentimental as I write this. Tomorrow I have little doubt I'll be back to my usual wicked and cynical self. I'll be the same despicable snake I've always been.