Bleached Blonde Latinas Ch. 04

Men are just like German Shepherds, Arlene once noted. They're either at your feet or at your throat. At the moment she had her houseboy right where she wanted him - at her feet; submissive, subservient and horny. Jim's rod was so thick it was easy to forget how lengthy it was, but Arlene never forgot. Every woman has a special cock, every woman has a fantasy, every woman has a craving, and Jim was Arlene's.

"I'm telling you," she said. massaging his chest tenderly. It was hard not to focus on his mammoth, mighty, tree-trunk, but both she and he knew she'd eventually get there. For such a thin, frail main, Jim was endowed well beyond what physiology suggested, but maybe that's what Arlene liked about him. For the moment the redwood was rising and lowering of its own volition, bouncing gently against his lower abdomen. He liked it when Leenie's hands were on him. Her touch was incredibly reassuring. It made him feel like a man.

..."I'm telling you, I saw one of the guys you're working with. You gotta up your game." Was she serious? Jim sometimes couldn't tell. She made him feel like Pavlov's dog at times, but it excited him. Between that and her well-paying job, her slick condo by the water, her willingness to supply him with drugs, her tolerance of his gayness, her generosity, and her sluttiness, Jim had found the perfect mate.

..."I'm telling you. They got this this Japanese guy. He is fucking hot. I sucked his dick...oh, don't worry, it's not big like yours, but still, you gotta compete in other areas." She smiled and took out her mini grooming comb and scissors.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes. Jimmy, you got to look your best," she said, brushing away a few loose hairs. It's hard to trim pubic hair without making genital contact, and Jim's reacted as if it had been zapped with a cattle-prod. It rose, it fluttered from side to side, and looked as it it was about to topple, before settling into a diagonal, hovering at a precise, forty-five degree angle.

"Wow, your veins are sticking out." She dug a fingernail into the most prominent one. Jim panted softly. Let's see a man do that, she thought. The veins are one of the most overlooked aspects of a penis, but perhaps the most sensitive. Jim reached for her, trying to bring her in closer. "Whoa, whoa, baby-cakes. I don't want you to burn out. Tomorrow's a big day. You're only getting get one cum...that's it, and I''ll do all the work. You just lie back and do whatever it is men do when a girl's got their hand on their dick." Arlene was stroking while she was talking.

Jim was beginning to writhe. His panting grew louder and more rapid. "You're not cumming already, are you?" Don't men know that hand-jobs are as much fun for the woman as it is for men? It is when the woman is Arlene and the man is a semi-obedient houseboy with a majestic penis

"Too late," Jim gurgled, "too late. I think...uh...ah, aahhh." Arlene pulled down on the shaft before lifting it upwards, trying to time it with the big-bang, and when it happened, his sperm shot upwards, aiming for the stars, but gravity being gravity, it didn't quite make it. There's something about thick, creamy goo that brightens a woman's heart. Jim was just sort of there, still breathing heavy and gasping for air, while Arlene mopped up the milky mess from his belly with a damp towel. She smiled the smile of one who knew she was good at her craft. She hadn't met a cock yet that could resist her hand. Oh she had some challenges over time, but a change in rhythm, a change in motion, quickening or slowing the rapidity; hard, fast, slow, tender - whatever it took. Bending, twisting, hurting - whatever it took.

Jim saw what she had planned. "Oh no," he groaned, "not that."

"It's for your own good," she reassured him. "This one's not too bad. I've seen worse, and so have you. Be a big boy. Tomorrow you''re gonna fuck your brains out." And with that she gently eased the suddenly docile, male specimen into the hard plastic prison. It troubled her, because she knew her man deserved better, but if he wanted to earn money doing porn, he had to meet Jane's exacting standards, and she expected the semen train to keep on rolling.

****

"Do you want a blowjob?"

Jovi shook his head. "No thanks, maybe later," although he was just being polite. The last thing he wanted right now was a sucking from a male groupie wearing a chastity device, although when he found out that the man also happened to be PEEK-FREAK, he cut him some slack.

"Herman," bellowed Jane, "leave the fucking men alone. Go tend to the women, and don't get caught looking under their skirts." She knew she couldn't ban him from peeking, so 'don't get caught' was the best she could do. It felt like old times again. He kept her from getting complacent; perhaps Jane needed.

A female voice ask him why he was wearing a cock-clamp. "Because I'm a pervert," he replied. At least he's honest, thought Jane, before her attention was diverted by more important matters.

There were seven women in the room. Herman recognized four of them. Eva of course he knew from the health spa; no thrill in seeing her. He adored Olivia; it was she who taught him the rewards that came from being submissive, but he couldn't make a pass at her, or even initiate conversation. Once a houseboy, always a houseboy...

He had to tread lightly around Connie, because he had peeked under her skirt one too many times, which led to him being banned from a video shoot. His defense was that if you didn't want him looking under your skirt, don't provide the temptation, and the skirt she wore that day was so erotic, he lost control, and he lifted it up so he could savor her panties in all their glory. Okay, he'd accept that he had gone beyond peeking that one time, but a real slut would have taken it as a compliment. Connie was a fake slut in his eyes, a poseur. But damn, she had nice thighs. A hint of cellulite can be most becoming. He came to realize in hindsight that it was the thigh and not the skirt that caused him to lose control.

Jenn was in the house! He knew her indirectly, through Pete, who liked a good beat-down every now and again. "It's invigorating," he'd say, "good for the blood." One look at Jenn and who could argue? She was good for the penis too. She had taken the bleached blonde mantra to its limit, because her hair was much lighter than he remembered. It was straighter too, perhaps a result of the coloring. She was a hot-looking goddess, and unlike most of her ilk, she seemed to be a nice person. Pete always talked about going out to breakfast with her after she had pulverized his balls, plugged his butt-hole, and declared war on his penis. Herman couldn't imagine himself taking her to breakfast, but he could definitely see himself whacking for her; that is, should she demand he do so. That would be quite excellent, but the chafing confines of the chastity device sent a stern message to Herman's libido, so his thoughts moved on.

Behind Jenn's laid-back attitude was a cruel vixen who knew how to walk the tightrope between pain and pleasure. She looked so innocent and wholesome, it was hard to imagine her inflicting pain on naked men, but maybe that was part of the allure. But no matter how good she looked, she was out of Herman's league. Last he heard, she was banging Marty Montana, the buffed, Nordic bodybuilder, and he couldn't compete against that. But that didn't mean he couldn't be on the lookout for a glimpse of her undies. Hopefully she was smart enough not to wear black, lest she incur the wrath of UPPIE-MAN or, heaven forbid, PEEK-FREAK. Once on his shit-list, there was no coming back.

Of the three women he didn't know, one got his attention, probably because she was the one who spoke to him. She liked his answer and smiled; it would seem that the set of a porn video is one of the few places where admitting to being a pervert bought one currency.

Ellen's hair was such a glorious shade of yellow, it was impossible to tell whether it was natural or colored. Some bleach jobs are meant to deceive, while others are statements of intent. Who knew where hers fit in? Ironically, Ellen's hair color was so perfect that it made her look cheap, but in a good kind of way. It was too blonde, if that's possible. How does one define cheap? An experienced chick-with-a-dick, like Herman, recognized it straight off. It started with the clothing, he thought, and Ellen's was all wrong. You don't wear a tan-colored tank-top when your hair is bright yellow. And if do you happen to wear a tan tank top, for heaven's sake, don't wear a leopard-print bra; they clash, but for some reason, if you are still determined to wear a leopard-print bra, please, please, please, don't let it show. A bra strap is one thing, but the cups shouldn't be visible through the side. That's cheap.

And what the hell? If your hair is blonde, and you made the bad decision of wearing a light-tan tank-top, why on earth would you want to compound the error by wearing a yellow miniskirt? Yellow and tan clash even worse, and not even panties could help this mess, unless they were the most spectacular of all-time. Sure, her legs were securely crossed, and he hadn't seen them yet, but it didn't matter, because her panties were of little interest to him; he already knew what she was wearing. Jane need not worry about his getting caught. Every girl that wears a leopard-print bra wears matching panties. It was like a law, or something. Worse for Herman, it killed the suspense. If only she'd let him dress her, he could turn her into a first-class slut, not a cheap, tawdry one. Just his luck, he lamented; a sexy, mini-skirted Donkey actress smiled at him, spoke to him, was maybe even interested in him, was wearing a short skirt...and yet, he didn't even care about upskirting her. How ironic was that?

Ellen wore an excessive amount of beads and baubles, and don't even get him started about her black fingernail polish. She was so cheap that Herman was overcome with joy. Could Ellen be his Eliza Doolittle, and he her Henry Higgins? Could this be his new reason for living? Despite the uncomfortable confines of the chastity clamp, things were on the upswing. But she was still a woman in a mini, and Herman was still a pervert. Shit, better not get a boner now. He was in cock-prison, with no way of escaping. There was no chance of using a feather or letter-opener for some scratchy-feely, penis contact. He began to wonder whether Ellen was wondering what kind of perviness he was tangled up in, to warrant such a punishment, since it didn't appear that she was turned-off by it.

Ellen wore nondescript, black pumps on her feet; a classic mistake. A girl like her should be wearing stilettos. She really didn't have any fashion sense, did she? The things Herman could do for her, but it would have to be a two-way street. He would pledge his undying servitude to her, and she would accept his perversions. He must have been staring at her feet longer than he thought, because the next time Jane saw him he was running breathlessly to her. "Is it okay if I kiss Ellen's feet and suck her toes?"

Jane looked at him in dismay. "Why Herman, why?"

"Because she asked me to."

Jane shook her head and took a deep breath. "You know, I call you a sick fuck, and I'm joking a lot, but goddamn it, you really are a sick fuck."

"Thank you...so it's okay?" While she was questioning the wisdom of allowing him back on the set, Herman took her hesitance as a yes, and he scampered off.

****

There were four naked men in the room. Jinmin was there too. Officially an assistant director, which was her reward for being Jane's property, she played her role to the hilt. "Remember guys," she intoned, "the ladies can do anything they want. Don't fight it, just enjoy." Jovi gulped. This was a lot different than Soapland. There he was briefed on the scene, and he knew with whom he'd be working, but Jane liked to keep the men on a razor's edge, which was sharpened by uncertainty. They were lined up single file and were bunched together, waiting to be summoned into action. Jovi felt a penis make contact with his buttocks. Dan was behind him; there could be no mistaking the heavy iron. Was it intentional, accidental, or incidental? Of the three options, he hoped it was intentional, a mating call.

Rodrigo was straight, Redwood Jim was gay, Dan was bi, and Jovi was...well, he was straight, or used to be straight, but then too, so had Dan. All he could do was go by what his emotions were telling him, and they were telling him to go for the donkey-dick, apply for membership in Dan's fan-club. No other man moved him that way. Dozens of women, but only one male. Jovi was at the front of the line, and his pecker was out there on display, dangling helplessly before the visual onslaught of an equally young Korean girl, a recent high-school graduate, not quite nineteen, with coke-bottle glasses and a skirt length that spoke volumes. Boin-n-g! Jinmin had forsaken her denim for something a little flimsier. Perhaps she read what PEEK-FREAK had to say about denim.

She smiled and gave encouragement. "Now that's what I call a woodie," she exclaimed! You guys should all be like Jovi," who smiled nervously, still unsure about the propriety of a full-on erection that was stiff enough to hang clothes on. There was something about a girl with hungry eyes that worked like an aphrodisiac on his ding-dong. He liked being naked in front of clothed women, because it put him at a disadvantage, the appeal of which he was just beginning to understand. Another quirk was that he liked it even better if other naked men were there too, because he had also discovered that he enjoyed looking at penises.

Jinmin walked down the line, looking for softies, and checking out the fresh meat. She could see why Jane had given her a few days off; she wouldn't share Jovi either, were she in her shoes. There was no need to worry about Dan. His sausage had sprung into life, to which another man's buttocks could attest, making said man feel very odd. Here he was, on the verge of being devoured, abused, even raped - or worse, by seven, cock-hungry sluts, and all Jovi could think about was Dan's bone, even thinking about how it might feel inside him. Prostate-massage, Jane called it, it was dicking to Olivia and butt-fucked, per Arlene. Why were girls so enthusiastic about men banging men? A torrid sex session with Dan would be great, but imagine their torrid sex session with Jane, Olivia, Connie and all the other women watching. That would be beyond great, that would be beyond belief, and just like that he had a new fantasy to contemplate. The Japanese penis tensed and got even more rigid.

Redwood Jim had a deer-in-the-headlight vulnerability that caused people to melt, although being the possessor of a penis that drew comparisons to a tree sped up the melting process. For a long while it was men who melted, but Arlene touched him in ways that no woman before her had, and it was through her guidance and her training that he was now able to maintain an erection while mashing it around inside a cunt, which is a gay man's biggest obstacle, and greatest challenge.

Jinmin summoned her inner-Jane and, grabbing Jim's pecker, she said, and quite sternly too, we might add: "redwood-boy, it's time to man-up." It gave her a secret thrill to talk that way and, emboldened, she continued past Jim to Rodrigo, who looked dazed and confused. He was still wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, but he was doing it for Claudia, the love of his life. She wasn't the first woman to turn to porn in order to make money, and they weren't mutually exclusive, but he wanted to remain close to his woman, and if he had to undergo this degradation in order to do that, so be it.

Jinmin's ogling was hard to resist, and Rodrigo took the bait. It was as if someone had pumped air into the elephant trunk. He might even be bigger than Tony, she thought, her gold standard for trophy cocks. Under the guise of doing her job, she knew she had the power to fondle and caress his junk, but Jinmin believed in fair play, so she resisted the urge to slap it around a little and make him uncomfortable. Jane was a big believer in taking men out of their comfort zone, but Jinmin didn't want to exploit her advantage. Maybe she'd get a crack at him at the after-party. If not, there was always the Tsubaki. Hideki had since sent a crate of them to his wife, and Jane was handing them out like Halloween candy. Each bleached blonde Latina got one, as did Jinmin.

****

Seven women, or fourteen legs, if you're Herman, were sitting on an L-shaped bench. As first in line, Jovi's instructions were to walk past the women until he reached the last of them. Connie was the first woman he encountered. Her hair didn't look any blonder than the evening he first met her, but her thighs, oh sweet Lord, her thighs. He hadn't even paid attention to them the night they had sex, unhinged by other things, such as her hands devouring his body, being thrown down onto a bed, jumped on by an aggressor, ridden hard, and put through the paces until he couldn't take any more.

Connie's skirt could best be called magenta. As soon as Herman saw it, he said, "I bet she's wearing the same color panties," to nobody in particular. Magenta-on-magenta wasn't as bad as black-on-black, but it showed a lack of imagination, as PEEK-FREAK would point out. If you're going to wear a mini, go all the way and wear panties that titillate, entice, and arouse; wear ones that make a man want to beat-off. Of course, PEEK-FREAK was interested in the truth, so perhaps he should sniff around and make sure of the color before maligning Connie. He'd call it research, if she made a fuss about it.

Jovi assumed the next set of legs belonged to the girl from the health spa, based on her age. He had been led to believe that she represented sweetness and purity, but, Eva had tarted herself up considerably, overdosing on the bleach, with her makeup and warpaint way over the limit as well. Asking a nineteen-year-old girl to tart herself up is fraught with risk, but as long as the overall effect doesn't cause a man to lose his boner, the reward can be worth it. Herman had seen Eva's panties so often they no longer interested him. They were white cotton, always white cotton. That, and the fact that she had zero interest in Herman, was what drove that dynamic.

The heavy artillery had made its appearance in the room. Dan, Rodrigo and the Redwood represented a yardstick of penis between them. Having felt like a strutting peacock, the oohs and aahs of adoring females brought Jovi back down to earth. It wasn't his little pea-shooter that was making them awestruck, but Jane said as long as he remained erect she'd be happy, and he was proud to make her happy.

Next up was the big-titter. Had it been Vickie that had spoken to Herman, and not Ellen, he'd be making his slave pitch to her, but Vickie didn't need help in picking out her clothes, or underclothes. She wore a white blouse, as well as a white skirt, which quickly commanded his attention. The skirt had blue polka-dots, and his eagle-eye had already detected light-blue panties. Was it his fault that she crossed her legs right as she saw him staring at her crotch? Maybe she knew he was a perv, saw the cock-clamp, and decided to have some fun. Either way, it didn't take long, did it? Panty hunters often like the thrill of the chase as much as the prize, but it's also a truism that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Vickie's panties would have been worth the wait, but having already added the notch to his belt, and having stored it away in his masturbation memory folder, he had no complaints.

Vickie's bra was white too, easily identifiable through the light material of the blouse. White-on-white in this instance was acceptable, even applauded, and Herman gave it a perfect ten. Jane wore the key to his freedom around her neck, and he looked at it with envy. Vickie made him want to jerk-off. Ellen, on the other hand, gave him a head full of nasty and obscene ideas. That might be a good subject for the blog: girls that make you masturbate versus girls with whom you want to get filthy. Damn, the fucking cage was making him insane...