Double Trouble

He turned and sat on the sofa and ran an arm under me and lifted me up and pulled me over to his lap, facing him. I turned my eyes to one of the paintings on the wall.

Here we go, I said to myself. Remember not to hold your breath. Breathe easily, don't tense your channel, be loose, very loose. Eyes on the paintings. It's the body. You're being taken by that magnificent body. That monstrous cock. Not the face.

But then, rather than setting me down on his cock, he pushed my head toward the carpet in front of the sofa. I felt his thighs go over mine on each side as my shoulders and neck hit the carpet. My thighs were trapped between his and the edge of the sofa. My legs were spread in the air. His feet were on my shoulders at the arm pits, holding my shoulders to the floor.

I shuddered as I saw his face above mine and then, again, when he reached over and took the fourth bottle of beer from the coffee table.

I lurched and gasped and he laughed as I felt the cold beer stream into my channel. And then the neck of the beer bottle.

"Good choice, maybe, the bottle not the can. But when I fuck you will wish you had been prepared by the can."

I whimpered and moaned as he fucked me with the beer bottle, my channel sloshing with beer.

He took my dick in both hands and started to work it again. "You come for me."

I was overcome for several moments, but then I got angry. No, you come for me god dammit. Fuck me. Fuck me.

Again it was an internal cry.

But I managed to reach up with both of my hands and grasp his cock and start driving him as hard as he was driving me.

He let out an animalistic yell, and the first thing I knew, I was dangling from his side with his arm around my waist and we were moving across the room.

Into another room we went, dark, but for only a brief moment. When the lights went on, it was another room with lighting spotting on paintings. Three of them. The same grotesquely gorgeous torso. But fucking a small, dark-skinned youth—a Thai I presumed—in three different positions.

It was a bedroom, with a gigantic king-sized bed in the center of it.

I was dumped on the bed, on my belly. The hand under me, palming my waist, pulled me up onto my knees, while the fist of Jaguerman's other hand grabbed me by the back of my neck and smashed my face into the thick material of the bedspread.

I managed to turn my head and found myself facing a painting of just this fuck position. The cock of the top in the painting was gigantic.

I cried out as Jaguerman's cock head fought for entry in my channel. But only with the bulb of the cock. Pressing in but holding there.

Again the tease, the hint of preliminaries as briefly the bulb moved back and forth just inside my entrance—and then the long plunge, with no further preliminaries.

Yes, fuck me, fuck me. Don't hold your breath, reach back and pull your buttocks apart, relax, relax, relax your channel, relax your . . . oh god, oh GOD. Oh, Holy SHIT! Oh, yesss!

Fuck me, fuck me, fuuccckk me. Moooannn.

Oh, shit, I've got it all. Can feel his pubes on my buttocks. Breathe, breathe. Oh, holy shit. But I've done it. I could do it.

And then, as I felt his balls begin to slap on the tender skin of my inner thighs, the screaming started. It was mine. Giving me no quarter, he was pistoning me to beat the band.

The second painting had me lapped, facing away from him and making love to his cock with my channel. Slower, more sensuous this time. Lovers finding each other's arousal points.

Now he had lost control too. Now he was moaning and groaning.

And it was OK. No, it was great—as long as I wasn't facing him.

But in the third painting position, I was facing him. Laying on my back on the bed, with him standing between my legs.

But I was beyond caring what he looked like. Every fiber of my senses was concentrated on the gigantic staff inside me. Deeper, deeper, thicker. Moan. Faster, deeper, deeper. Oh god, oh shit!

He didn't come. I came. He said, "You come for me," and I came. But then he stopped.

I looked up into his face. Just barely being able to do so now. Any man who could fuck me like that deserved to be looked in the face.

With him stopped, inside me, like that, I could get the measure of him as never before. No, I'd never had it like that before. Never as deep, never as thick. And it was pulsating inside me.

I was mewing and sighing and groaning. "Fuck me, fuck me. Don't stop."

It wasn't spoken internally now. I'd said it. I looked him in his piggish face and I was all desire, no disgust.

"Fuck me," I whined. "Finish it. And then fuck me again."

He was smiling. It was an evil, mischievous smile.

He held there, inside me. I half expected a sudden flow, a gut-wrenching drenching to rival that of the beer.

But he was withdrawing from me. And I wanted to cry. I clutched for his buttocks, trying to hold him inside me.

But he laughed and pushed my hands aside.

I was exhausted. I had just realized that. When he was inside me, everything had been focused on that monster shaft and begging it to reach further, to stretch wider. To throb and to flood me.

But now that was gone, I felt the loss of it. I whimpered.

He laughed. And then he reached down for me and lifted me off the bed and slung me over his shoulder.

He padded across the room and out into the hall. Down the hall to another closed door. He opened the door to darkness. He flipped on the light switch.

Again, spotlights on paintings on three walls, the fourth wall a solid sheet of glass overlooking the terrace and the sultry Bangkok night, the noise of a city that never slept spiraling up into the room.

I whimpered again as my eyes focused on the paintings. Three men now. One of them my Belgian satyr. The other another burly Westerner. Again a small Oriental youth between them. Three fuck positions. All doubles. Two cocks, fighting for dominance, within the small youth's channel.

On the bed, waiting for us. Naked and in full erection. Kamrod Tikka. Smiling. Hand encasing erect phallus.

"There," the Belgian boomed out, "I told you Mr. Tikka would meet us at the apartment."

"Oh god, oh god," I murmured. Not able to respond in any other way in my utter exhaustion.

As Kamrod held his rod stiff and licked his lips in anticipation, the Belgian turned me away from Kamrod and lowered my channel on his cock.

Kamrod encircled my waist with his arms and took my cock in one of his fists. He kissed me in the hollow of my neck.

I watched Jaguerman full in the face as he fisted my ankles, spread my legs up and wide and began working his cock inside my channel above Kamrod's already fully encased staff.

"Oh, god, oh, god, Oh shit." But it was barely a whimper.