Lower Than the Heartbysr71plt©
"Don't worry, fucker, I'll take care of you. Fuck 'em fast and hard the first time and they'll come crawling back to you for more. Jacking off. That's the thing. Once my cock jacks you off, you'll be mine."
Trent was confused. That wasn't what he meant at all. Or was it?
Buster pushed Trent's briefs down past his knees and they fell to the floor. "Step out of them," he commanded. "Now," he said when Trent didn't react fast enough.
Trent whimpered again but stepped out of the pants and briefs puddle on the floor. Buster kicked them aside. He lifted one of Trent's legs to be hooked on his hip. Trent realized when his leg went up that Buster had somehow lost his own shorts. And had found a condom.
Trent moaned at the inevitability.
"The other leg," he growled, and, with a little sob, Trent raised that one to the other hip. "I'm going to fuck you now," Buster said. It wasn't a question. "Fifteen minutes from now all your tension and worries will be gone. I'm the doctor."
"Yes," Trent murmured. It wasn't the answer he'd willed himself to give.
"Raise up and put your arms around my neck," Buster commanded. As Trent did so, he both felt the power of a huge, hard cock at his belly and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buster dip a hand into an open container of some sort of tan-colored grease on a shelf nearby.
"Oh shit, oh fuck," Trent whined.
"This is what you need," Buster said. Trent felt Buster greasing up his pole between their bellies and then lifting Trent's buttocks and spreading them and pushing grease into his hole. He felt the cock head at his hole and then forcing itself inside and holding, throbbing, and then a long, stretching slide down.
"Oh shit! Oh Fuck! Oh God!" he cried out and then he was moaning and grunting and groaning as buster lifted his buttocks up to the sound of slurping and then slammed it down on his pole to the sounds of yowls and gasps from Trent. And repeated. Again and again.
"Now you," Buster commanded, and Trent embarrassed himself by taking up the action of the rise and fall on the cock while Buster just stood there and remained hard.
"See, you wanted it," Buster declared.
Five minutes later Trent shot his load between their bellies.
"You really did need it, didn't you? Quick shot," Buster muttered. "But you aren't going to get off that easy. Buster has to get his rocks off too."
"What . . . what . . .?" Trent murmured in exhaustion and shock.
He found out what. Moments later he was bent over a sawhorse, with a padded platform on top, on his belly, and Buster was handcuffing his wrists to his ankles underneath on either side. Then he positioned himself behind Trent and slammed his cock back up inside him and began to piston hard and fast until he too had ejaculated. So overwhelmed was Trent with all of this that he came a second time himself.
As Buster was uncuffing him, Trent was muttering nonsensically about having to leave, needing to get home. Buster pulled his head up by the hair from where it was hanging over the sawhorse and looked him in the eye and said, "Tell me that wasn't what you needed. Tell me you haven't been big fucked now and that it wasn't what you've been needing."
Trent babbled something, but even he didn't know what it was.
"Was I good? Do you want me to fuck you again?"
"Yes," Trent admitted in a strangled voice.
"Oh, god, yes," Trent cried out.
He went back to freeing Trent from the sawhorse.
"What . . . now . . . where?"
"I'm taking you into the house. For some more therapy. I'm sure you can use more, but you're such a sweet fuck that I want more of it myself." Then Buster laughed as Trent moaned, threw the young man over his shoulder, and started marching toward the house. All that either one of them was wearing were Buster's hiking boots. But he was twirling the two pairs of handcuffs in his free hand. And he was humming . . . the theme from Jaws.
* * * *
"Suppose you might uncuff me now?"
"So, have you caught your breath well enough to speak again? Well, no, not right away, I'm not going to free you. I may want to nail you again like that. Haven't decided."
Trent was on his back on one side of the double bed. His arms were stretched over his head and handcuffed to the slats of the brass headboard. The brass there was so chewed up that Trent knew he wasn't the first to have visited and been bound to this spot. He would have assumed that regardless of the evidence. Buster was sitting on the bed beside him, his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out on the bed. He was smoking a cigarette and idly playing with his half-hard cock.
"Nail me. Are you always so rough and cruel when you fuck? And so impersonal and blunt about how you talk about sex?"
"Always. Leastwise when I do a man. The times I fuck a woman—and I do that on occasion—I take more time and do her slow and easy. That's what a woman needs and wants. She builds up to her orgasms slower and can continue with them on a wave if you stay with her. And if you do, she's yours for whatever you want from her. And she needs different, softer words. But with men it's different. It's more primitive, a fight for Alpha Dog. There's got to be one victor and one vanquished. And it's all about getting your rocks off. The A dog is on a high when he grabs the jack off, and the underdog is on a high when one is grabbed from him. Both winners when there's a winner and a loser. And admit it, when I say I'm going to fuck you or nail you or spike you or dick or cock you or split your ass, doesn't that arouse you more than saying I'm going to make love to you? I mean if you're really a man. If you're a woman or a pansy, maybe the softer words work better."
"Quite a philosophy there. Wham bang, no foreplay, no lovin'."
"Nope, not with a man. It's not about the heart with the man. It's about things lower down, lower than the heart. The dick and the hole. The friction and the ejaculation. Sex seems to mean a whole range of things to a woman—many of them something about the future. But to a man, it's all about the right now, the ejaculation. Even a man taking a woman, he may do a lot of cuddle type things to make her happy and to get into her cunt, but for him it's that one, right now firing off and not much else. The rest is just for her to do things for him and to open her legs to him with less effort from him the next time he wants to get off. You're not complaining about the dicking you got, are you?"
"No," Trent answered. And indeed he didn't have any complaints at all. And it was the primeval aspect to it as much as anything else that had completely satisfied him. In the course of a bit over an hour and a half Buster had fucked him on the bed like this twice. And that was after having handcuffed him to the bed and crouched over him and force-fed his cock into Trent's mouth.
The cock had been a real shock. Trent hadn't seen it in the taking in the shed. Buster was dusky-skinned all over, but not so that Trent had thought about it. But his cock and balls revealed his mixed breeding. The gas station attendant had said something about that. He'd called Buster a half breed. Half of him clearly was black, because he had the cock and balls of a black man. Thick as a fat slug, the cock a dark brown with a brown cap. And the low-hanging ball sack nearly black.
Buster had grabbed the back of Trent's head, cruelly burying his fingers in the young man's hair, twisting in there to get a solid hold, and pulled Trent's mouth on and off the cock, causing him to gag and his eyes to water, until the cock was filled out. He didn't take long at it though. Then he'd crouched, half standing, on the bed, pulling Trent's pelvis up to his and pounded away deep inside Trent's channel as Trent gasped and groaned, tried unsuccessfully to gain some sort of hold with his flailing legs, and ejaculated and then gasped and groaned some more. Buster himself hadn't come—although Trent had done so again—until he'd moved under Trent's body, made Trent skewer himself on the cock again and then raised Trent's legs up and wide with the strength of his own wishboned legs, cupped Trent's chin up to where their mouths met over Trent's shoulder, beat Trent's cock off with the other hand, and pounded up into his channel.
He had to think more on it, though, but Buster just might have something in believing that Trent felt more "done"—more satiated—because his ejaculations had been roughly taken from him. He certainly hadn't gotten off this often in a night with Kevin. His balls ached from the milkings they'd taken. But even that gave Trent an unusual feeling of being completely "done."
"You're a good lay. No, a great lay. A sweet, tight ass, but it yields to me. And I don't know if you're doing that stuff with your ass walls on purpose, but that muscle work on the cock while it's pounding you does a man good."
"Thanks, I'm glad I give you a good lay."
"Yep, indeedy. We can have some fun together. Tell me, though. Do you always come that quick—and that often?"
"It's been a while . . . and I've never had it like that before. That hard, that brutal."
"And hard and brutal make you come a lot?"
Trent wasn't going to say anything, but the man's blunt honesty must have been catching. "Yes."
"So, you want it from me again."
"And if I uncuff you, you won't go screaming out of the room and straight to that sheriff I've seen you talking with."
"No, I won't."
Buster leaned over to the side of the bed and took a key out of the top drawer of the bedside table. He came up on his knees beside Trent and reached up to unlock the handcuffs. His half-erect dick was at the level of Trent's raised head, and Trent zeroed out the distance between it and his mouth and opened his lips over the bulb. Buster laughed a deep-throated laugh.
When freed, Trent's hands went to lightly touch the sides of the cock while he sucked on the bulb. He ran fingers up and down the sides. The size and darkness of it mesmerized him. The blackness fascinated him. If someone told him he seemed to be worshipping the phallus, he could not have denied it. Buster let him suck for a couple of minutes and sent his hips into a gently sway, moving the shaft deeper into Trent's mouth. But then he abruptly pulled it out and flopped back down on the bed beside Trent and reached for his half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray on the bedside bureau with one hand and stuck his hand in the drawer and pulled out a condom packet with the other.
"Are you going to fuck me again?" Trent asked.
"That's the plan, hot shot. That's what the rubber is for. But I don't do foreplay. My cock's mainly for fucking. It only needs sucked right before I fuck—and usually not even then. I can go hard just by thinking of fucking a nice piece. I don't have to have it sucked to get hard for you."
"I noticed you're not much of a foreplay guy."
"Yeah, well, you're laying there panting, asking me if I'll spike you again. Wanting it. Sort of proves my point about the difference between men and woman. With a woman at this point I'd have to go through a lot of preparation with her to get her to open her legs to me again—and I'd probably have to tell her I loved her a dozen times. With a man, I can just stick it in again and he's good to go. He and me both are just thinking about the next ejaculation; we're not wondering about what color basinet to buy or whether I'll love him in the morning. You want it right now, don't you?"
"You said you hadn't had it for a while. How long is a while? I think you'd open your legs for me every hour on the hour. Why haven't you been doing that for someone for a while? You were made to be fucked."
"It's been over a year."
"Fuck! Over a year? No wonder you come like a fountain once you get a good dick in there. Why so long?"
"I was living with a man. He passed. And then I couldn't . . ."
"Passed? You mean he's dead, right?"
"But he's the one dead, isn't he? You didn't just lose your hole and stop itching for it when he kicked off, did you?"
"No. I suppose not. But we were committed."
"Committed, shit. Committed is right. Didn't you listen to me earlier? Men and women commit—because women want that and won't let men in their cunts without that; men and men fuck. They fuck to get their rocks off. They don't fuck as part of creating something—other than mutual pleasure. It's not about the heart with men. It's about what's lower down. The dick and the hole. And the friction of the dick in the hole. And the cum, the ejaculation. Coming as often as possible. Fucking with a prime body as often as you can, establishing a victor and a vanquished. The victor getting off on conquering; the vanquished getting off on being conquered. Putting order to the pack. Don't you get it?"
Trent didn't answer for a full minute. He just laid there and looked at the ceiling.
"I get off on being vanquished?"
"In spades. That's your role. I'm always going to be the victor with you. I'll bet the man you mourn was the victor with you—and even the man you're running away from is struggling to conquer you. You were made to be fucked. That's your natural role. You're good at it. You've got a great channel, a talented one. This guy—this dead lover—you made it an issue of the heart with this guy, didn't you?"
"Yes, I guess I did."
"Did he die in an accident or something and you two never talked about it?"
"No, we talked about it. He . . . he . . . was older than me. And he got sick. Deathly sick. And, yes, we talked about it. He did, mostly. I was a little shit. I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening. And, yes, he did tell me I needed to find someone else."
"How much older was he then you?"
"Uh, nearly thirty years."
"You're what? Twenty, twenty-one?"
"Twenty-four. I was nineteen when we started. He was a professor of mine . . . at college. And a stage producer. He got me my first job."
"So, he was what, fifty or so?"
"Chris' almighty. You let an old man nail you to the bed when you weren't old enough to even know you had a hole? And you're talking a one-and-only love? Did he at least dick you good? Is that what you wanted in an older man. Experience? A big dick? A good dicking?"
"Yes, I guess. To all of the above, since we're being brutally honest here. But he was romantic too. He didn't fuck me like you do."
"He fucked you the way he wanted to; don't be fooled by that. He was the victor. He controlled you with the fuck. And you wanted a daddy. Someone who would master you. You liked it romantic. But you don't turn your nose up at it hard and honest either, do you? You just like being fucked, having a real man handle you."
Trent didn't respond to that.
"And that's why you came to me. I've got you by a good twenty years, which meets your older guy fetish. You watched me nailing Paul on the beach, and you wanted to be dicked by the best. And you're here and I'm not hearing any complaints. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd pulled the chrome strip off your car yourself. You came here because you wanted a man inside you."
"I didn't come here to be fucked. I came here to have my car fixed."
"Yeah, right. But you came to Oyster all the way from the big city because you were trying to escape something, weren't you? Your daddy's been dead for over a year. That's not what sent you here all a sudden and all flustered and looking for someone to fuck you like I've done."
"I came for peace and quiet so I could finish a play."
"What happened just before you came? There someone else who wants his dick inside you day in and day out, isn't there? Someone you've gone all soft romantic on about but are holding at arm's length because your one true lover is dead and your world is over."
There was a pause, but, this being honesty time, Trent finally responded with a sigh and a "Yes, I guess so."
"And is this new guy wanting to get into your pants older or younger?"
"Older. Again, about thirty years."
"Well, hurdle one. You want an older guy. You've shown that. Even in coming here to me, you've shown it. I'm a lot older and yet here you are, on my bed, waiting for the next fuck. He's older. Can he get it up? You say you hadn't been fucked in over a year. He wants you but can't get it up?"
"No. He can get it up. Others have praised his prowess. I know he can get it up. We . . . we almost . . ."
"Got a good dick when hard?"
"Yes. Very good."
"Well, then, news flash, dude. Your other partner died; he didn't just pass to someplace where he might pass back, expecting you to be here for him. You say he told you to get another dick inside you? And he's the one who's dead, not you. You like this new guy? You could fuck with him well, do you think?"
"Yes. He's quite well put together. I could fuck with him quite well, yes. But . . . but that's not the real problem."
"He isn't dead too, is he?"
Trent paused and took in his breath. "Maybe almost. He's had cancer. He's in remission. But . . . I don't think I could live losing another one like that."
"And you think you're living now? Gone over a year not getting spiked and you think that's living? Another news flash in case you didn't hear me say it three times already. Men live to get their rocks off. You're a hottie who I've just proved loves to get your rocks off. If you're not getting your rocks off regularly, you are not living. Between men, the heart isn't the thing, it's lower than the heart. It's the dick and the dick in the hole and the friction of the fuck and shooting of cum. You could be hit by a bus before this guy ever hears the word 'cancer' again. You want to get over your problem, you go back and let him fuck you on all of the todays and let the tomorrows take care of themselves."
Trent lay there, thinking for a while, while Buster, apparently wound down giving his sermonettes, smoked a second cigarette and stroked his cock.
"I should be going," Trent said after a while. "What do I owe you for the chrome—and the therapy session."
He heard the snap of the condom on Buster's cock even as Buster was saying, "We're going to take care of that little fee right now."
Buster, who had told Trent earlier that he liked athletic positions as much as he liked a wham bang fuck, began the fuck sitting on the end of the bed, with Trent positioned in front of him and facing away. Trent's torso was arched away from Buster's chest, out over the floor at the end of the bed. His legs were stretched back, past Buster's hips, and toward the head of the bed. Buster held Trent in balance by gripping his pulled-back arms by the wrists. The total image was of some sort of streamlined hood ornament on a fancy car. Trent was instructed to leverage on his toes and knees to meet the thrusts of Buster up into him, who was using the leverage of his feet on the floor.
This gave Buster good depth and Trent was gasping and panting at the novelty of the position, but it perhaps was too refined and it didn't give Buster the piston action he preferred. After only about fifteen minutes of this, Buster turned Trent onto his belly on the bed, with his feet on the floor at the foot of the bed and crushed Trent's head into the mattress with one hand on the back of his neck and held both of Trent's arms bent behind his back by gripping his wrists together with the other hand and pounded and pounded and pounded Trent's ass hard and fast with his thick brown cock.
After he'd come, he left Trent laying there, not moving from that position, exhausted and moaning—and fully satisfied, having come himself twice again—and walked around to the other side of the bed and lit up another cigarette.
"You'll be coming back for more." It wasn't really a question.
"Yes," Trent murmured, with a moan.