Fan Male Ch. 02

"Is that all of it?"

"No. I let him feel me up and when he got in my panties, he went all crazy. He backhanded me and I fell out of the truck. If he'd gone slower, I would have told him before he got to the goods."

"What kind of truck was it?"

"A white one."

"Angel." Hardesty obviously was exasperated.

"It's Angelique. All I can say is it's a big one. One with a backseat."

"And you were in the backseat."

"He was going to pay well."

"OK, it sounds like you might have some information that's helpful. Come on in to the unit tomorrow and we'll take what you know down."

"You know I don't want to go into the police unit, Hardesty. You know none of us do. I came to you. And I can't go back to my place tonight. He knows where I live. My information isn't any good to you if he finds me and does me--and I mean does me in. And I don't think I'll remember anything without there being anything for me."

"OK, you can stay here for tonight. And how much do you want for this information?" Hardesty had worked this room many times before.

"It's not money I want, honey. You're rough with the girls, a rough we like. We give it out so much that we have to have it rough to feel it. With you, we feel it." She had stepped forward and was running the back of a long, pick-lacquered fingernail down his chest. Hardesty, again, had worked this room long enough to know what the room demanded and would hold out for.

"Just how much of a change have you made, Angelique?"

"That's for you to find out, honey. We all got where you want to put it. And did I mention I like your style?"

Hardesty had her spread-eagled on his bed, bound at the four corners and her ass elevated on pillows when he discovered how far she'd gone. The halter had already come off and he had played with her tits as much as she had demanded he do. When he pushed her leather skirt up to her waist and had ripped away her panties, the only vestige of a male he found was a tiny penis crowning a yawning cunt.

"Fuck it. Fuck me!" she demanded. So, hovering over her, his fists buried in the mattress on either side of her shoulders, he muttered, "What the shit," and he did fuck her. He'd fucked Angel before in the ass. There was little difference in fucking Angelique in her new cunt.

"Oh, baby, baby, YES!" she cried out as, not daring to plunge deep, he taxed her with his thickness. "You can go deeper. Go deeper!" she cried out. So, he did. He released her legs, still covered with her knee-high black boots, raised and wishboned her legs, moved in close, stroked her deeper. He fucked her good. She got what she came for.

"Holy shit," she cried out.

"This is what you wanted."

"Holy shit, Yes, yes. Holy shit! Come in me. Yes, YES!"

After he'd done her in her cunt, he did her like he'd done Angel before--he fucked her in the ass.

* * * *

He turned me on my back again, and I spread and bent my legs and lifted my pelvis to him, willingly, offering myself as a sacrifice, a sacrifice he accepted. He fisted me. Now I could take it after the reaming of his cock over the previous hour. I would give him anything, and he wanted--and took--it all. I panted and groaned as he penetrated me with a greased hand up to his wrist, taking his time.

"We have all the time in the world," he murmured to assure me that I was completely in his control.

"Be good to me, Master," I begged.

"You wish me to stop? You wish me to withdraw?"

"No. Have me as you like." I was lost to him, wanting more, wanting it all. He wasn't just a massive, big-bellied, middle-aged Indian. He was a sexual mystic, a master cocksman.

"Remember what I told you in taking a cock my size. You must do that for a large fist too."

I remembered, willing myself to relax and open to him, to control my breathing--not to hold my breath--to concentrate on how fully we were fused, the pleasure I was giving my partner, the pleasure I could have as well if I fought through the pain. Already I was learning from Patel, a master. Wherever I went from here, I would have learned to please a man more fully--and to receive maximum pleasure myself.

And it was pleasure--the pleasure of knowing I could take it; that it was what my partner wanted from me and that I was in the position to give it all to him. The pleasure of knowing I could take a huge cock, even a fist, probably even two cocks at once.

I can take a fist; I can take a fist. I rolled this over and over in my mind as he was penetrating me with his hand. And then I had taken his fist. In to the wrist, he had the leverage of moving my pelvis, up and down, from side to side, with the power of his hand.

He was inside me. I felt his fingers stroke my channel walls, a thumb firmly planted on my prostate and rubbing. Driving me crazy. I bucked slowly, as if under water, against him, with him, as he fluttered his fingers inside my channel. He held my head to the mattress with the other massive hand on my throat and gazed into my face, reveling in my complete, whimpering surrender to him.

Ian Marcus lay back in the seat, savoring his completed jackoff into a handkerchief, and turned the computer off. His laptop batteries were getting low here in the truck. He had waited outside Ted and Kit's apartment building on 19th Street in the white Dodge Ram double-cab until he got bored. Then he'd turned his laptop on and brought up the Sandman story he'd read the other night before picking up that T-girl. He hadn't known it was a T-girl and he'd been angry when he realized that and he'd booted the fucker out of the truck. He'd wanted to try fisting, like he'd read in this Sandman story. He still wanted to try fisting. He'd do that soon, but he'd read a more interesting fetish since then. He wanted to try sounding tonight if he could get someone--someone small, blond, and pretty--but not a T-girl. No, definitely not a T-girl. He was sorry he hadn't done more to the fucker than just push him out of the truck. There should be a law against those freaks, he thought.

He looked back across the street to the old Massachusetts Avenue apartment house. It didn't seem like the willowy blond honey was going to come out so he could grab him. He was horny as hell, though. That's when he remembered that another cutie, small and blond, had been working the pole at Eddie's Beach Bar across the river in Crystal City.

He drove back. The cutie was still there, but he was working the room now. Marcus let the trick work him. After a couple of drinks and having flashed a wad of cash, the cutie let Marcus take him for a ride. Marcus drove along the river on the George Washington Parkway and pulled into Turkey Run Park, the small forested park on the banks of the river, where he'd watched the Sandman being done in a Mustang. That's what brought him to the park now. There was a nighttime barrier bar across the asphalted entrance, but there was enough flat ground at the side of that for a truck to go around. They were in a truck.

Then, in a remote corner of the parking lot, they were in the backseat of the truck. They were both naked. The small, blond pole dancer was stretched out on Marcus's seated body, the young man's wrists bound and hooked behind Marcus's neck and his ankles bound and trapped behind Marcus's calves. For the money Marcus had laid out on the bench seat beside them, the pole dancer was good--but panting and groaning hard--to have his ass channel lowered on the man's thick erection and for Marcus to raise and lower him on the shaft for several minutes.

When Marcus opened a box next to them and started taking out sounding wands and telling the pole dancer what he was going to do with it, though, the dancer started squirming and sounding off. He wasn't able to writhe enough to dislodge the shaft inside him, though, or to escape his bonds.

Gripping the dancer's throat and applying his thumb and index finger "just so," the young guy blacked out long enough for Marcus to take up the smallest of the sounding wands and slowly twirl it into the dancer's piss slit. The dancer regained consciousness and started to strain against the invasion. Marcus held him tight, telling him it already had begun, and he really, really needed to hold still. Marcus didn't tell the guy this was Marcus's first go at this technique. Maybe if he had the dancer would have fainted and been OK.

Marcus did explain to the lad how important it was for him to hold still while the wands were twirled down into his piss slit, but the young man didn't seem to be interested in cooperating. He fought against it and writhed on Marcus's lap. That didn't stop Marcus from inserting the wands, though--or at least two more of them in succession--before the effort got messy. Marcus knew what he wanted to do and knew it would give him a sexual high, like he'd read in the Sandman's story and seen in operation in the house up on MacArthur Boulevard. He just knew the theoretical procedure more than the actual one. It did give him a sexual high at first, but the pole dancer wouldn't stop screaming and squirming and blood was getting all over the nice upholstery in the back of the Dodge Ram.

That made Ian Marcus mad.

* * * *

Toby returned to the Crystal City apartment well after midnight. He was dragging. It had been one demanding day. He let himself into the apartment. He saw that Hardesty's bedroom door was open as he was passing to his own room. This was a night for sleeping alone. After the men he'd had today, he didn't think he could survive what Hardesty might do with him if he climbed into bed with that big lug.

A dim light pervaded Hardesty's bedroom. It wasn't like him to either leave the door open or leave a light on in there at night. Toby looked into the room.

Hardesty wasn't there. Angelique still was, though. Toby had a passing acquaintance with the rent-boy. He knew most of the men on the street. He'd been there one day himself. He instantly saw that what was rumored--that Angel had gone all the way--was true. The T-girl was stretched out on the bed, arms flung up and out at the top of the mattress and legs flung out similarly below. The restraints at the four corners were showing, but not attached. Her pelvis was elevated on pillows. Her breasts were perky melons. Her skirt was pushed up to her waist, her legs were still covered in her black boots. The puffy wings of her cunt confirmed she'd now gone all the way, although there was a vestige of a tiny penis where Toby would have expected the clit to be.

Angelique was asleep, with a beatific smile on her face, and she was snoring in a very unladylike way.

Well alrighty, Toby thought, too tired to either figure this out or to wake Angelique and ask her where she was hiding Hardesty. He just passed this mystery by and went to his own room and shut the door. He wouldn't be passing the rest of the night in Hardesty's bed--and certainly not with Hardesty.