Snake Tail

"I don't want you to stop fucking me. But I want it rough and continuous until I've come three or four times. And I want you to fight me for it. To wrestle me and take me hard and deep—and until dawn. Just the two of us. I came all the way from L.A. to make up for a lot of always-in-the-fishbowl-in-front-of-screaming-little-girls time, and I want my money's worth."

* * *

When the young hunk, Tom Kat, said that, I laughed. This was my kind of game. It had hit me now. He was Tom Kat, the lead singer for that famous band of the same name currently on the international circuit. I'd seen him on television and I'd wanted to fuck his ass from the moment I'd seen him.

I snorted and grabbed for his arm. But he broke away from me, laughed, and started running on the sand, parallel to the edge of the sea, toward the quiet end of the beach. He wasn't the athlete that I was, though. I caught up to him, and twisted him around and kneed him in the belly—not hard, but enough to take the wind out of him. As he went down on the sand, I tugged at the waistband of his jeans and they came off him. While I was stripping my own shorts off, he regained his wind and struggled up and started scuttling along the beach again, propelling himself in a crab-like crouch with feet and hands. I caught up with him easily and covered his back with my chest and brought him to a standstill on all fours. Wrapping my arm around his chest, I heaved back with my hips and thrust my thick cock inside his hole. I'd already been in there and he was well lubed, but the invasion was still a shock to him. He cried out and tried to scuttle away from this invasion again, but I had a good hold on him and followed along the sand with him, thrusting in and out of him as he moved, more slowly with each thrust. Crying out in pain and passion. Until he came to a standstill, on all fours in the sand. And I fucked him like a dog. Hard and fast and deep. And he panted and grunted and howled like a dog. I had my hand under his belly and was stroking him off, and he came and than I came and we collapsed on the sand, panting and gurgling and laughing.

He struggled up and padded toward the water. I came after him, catching him when we had splashed in to a depth slightly above our waists. He turned and pummeled me with his fists and I forced his head under water until all of the fight was out of him. And then I pulled him up, reversed myself to where I was pointed at the beach, crouched, and brought him down into my lap, also facing the beach, and skewered his ass with my pole. He thrashed about and whimpered and moaned as I fucked him by sliding him up and down on my cock just as the European had done to the small Thai back at Howard's Bar. And the rock star writhed and flopped around like a rag doll just as the small Thai had done and loved every minute of it. I fucked and fucked and fucked until we had both come for a second time. And then I just held him there and nuzzled my lips into the hollow of his neck, recharging my batteries.

At length, he turned his face to mine and we kissed. He thanked me, saying the trip now was worthwhile and pulled away from me and slowly waded back to shore. I waited until he was on the beach and tenderly working his way up the sand, his legs well apart, nursing the plowing he had received.

Then with a roar, I took out after him, catching him before he had reached the road and manhandling him back toward the water as he struggled against me—laughing but telling me he had had enough. He'd only come twice, though, and he'd specified three times at least and I had no idea if he'd remember that once he'd gotten back to L.A. I crab walked him to a small fishing boat pulled up on the sand and flopped him down on the bottom of the boat on his back. As he weakly struggled to get up from that position, I held him down with a hand to his neck, telling him I'd put his lights out if he didn't stop struggling. And then I forced his legs up and over the gunwales at either side, crouched down between his thighs with my knees under his butt, and held his chest down with my hands as I fucked him to a third conclusion.

I collapsed on top of him after we'd both come, and lay there on top of him, still encased, as we both, with rasping breath and heavy chests, felt me growing smaller, but still fulfilling inside him. He sighed under me and stroked my hair with a hand and as we watched fingers of the dawn creep across the sky, he gave me a proposition I couldn't refuse.

"How would you like to see the world for a while?" he said in a small, quiet voice. "You'd be traveling with the band. You'd handle baggage and instruments by day—and me by night. I don't really see why I should have to travel halfway around the world whenever I'm horny."

I gave him my answer by pulling his hips up until his weight was on his shoulders, wishboning his legs and letting Clyde fuck down into his stretched hole for the fourth taking he'd mentioned while he showed me just how good the lungs of a rock star could be. No reason not to let him know just how much—and how frequently—I could handle him.