On The Pill

I kept sucking him. He was bucking wildly. He was moaning. He was masturbating himself with my mouth. But he wasn't coming.

"Can you come?" I asked.

He didn't answer. He was desperately trying to come. It wasn't happening. I would have to try something else.

I tore off my pajama pants and flopped down on the bed next to him face down. I pulled him over on top of me. I grabbed his big spit-wet dick and pointed it between my asscheeks, which I raised up, as I reached my other hand around behind his ass, and forced him down. I was forcing his cock into my ass. My dry ass. Oh, god. This was hurting. But there was nothing else to be done. I didn't have time to scout out lubrication. I had to get him off.

His cock started separating my asslips which closed around his enormity as he slid deeper and deeper into my back passage. I heard him make funny little mewling noises as he felt my ass close around him, and grip him. "AAAGGGHHH," he moaned in appreciation. Then he started tensing and untensing his asscheeks. He was fucking on his own now. He was gripping me around my waist, pulling me around him, and just plowing me. Grunting in my ear, squeezing the front of my thighs, squeezing my asscheeks. Then sinking in deeper than ever. "Oh, that's it. That's it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your hot ass feels so good on my cock. Your hot tight ass. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want to shoot my load. I want to come in your hot ass."

"Yes, please. Shoot your load in my hot ass. Please shoot your load," I encouraged him. "I want to feel your hot cum inside me. Give me your hot cum. Give me your hot cum. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me."

His movements were getting more and more frantic. His was breathing in gasps, in catches. I worked my assmuscles like an extracting machine. "AAHH. AAAAHHH. AAAHHH." It was working. He was going to come. Thank heavens. He was going to come. Not die. I was so grateful I started to cry again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," I screamed. "Just fuck me. Come in me. Give me your hot cum."

He started pounding again. Then he froze in position, and I felt the hot jets squirting into my ass. Never in my life was I so grateful for a liquid. I raised my legs and pressed my heels against his asscheeks, caressing them with my feet. I reached around and pressed his asscheeks with my hands. We both lay there not moving, just breathing. His cheek rested on my hair. His cheek was damp. My hair was damp. He would live. Life was wonderful.

"I don't know how I can thank you," he said to me after a few minutes. His cock was still buried up my ass.

"You were in pain. I was afraid you would die. I had to do something."

"I'll never forget what you did for me. You took my cock in your mouth. You took my cock up your ass. Just like a faggot. What a noble thing."

"I had to," I explained.

He patted my hair in appreciation. He went in and took a shower. Then I went in and took a shower. When I came back to the bedroom he was lying on his bed with a big stiff dick sticking in the air.

"Oh, no," I said.

"Yes," he said sheepishly. "It's back. It doesn't hurt as much as before, but it hurts a little. It's back. I think I have to come again. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. What else could I say?

I crawled between his legs and started nursing on his fleshy babybottle.

"That's it," he said warmly. "Suck my dick. Suck daddy's dick. I hope you don't mind dirtytalk," he said. "It helps me get off."

"No," I said. "Go ahead. Dirtytalk. Anything that helps."

"Suck daddy's big hot dick. Take that big thick cock into your hot faggot mouth. You like giving blowjobs, faggot? You like giving blowjobs?"

He pulled me up by my hair and looked into my eyes. "Answer me, faggot. You like giving blowjobs? You like sucking cock?"

"Yes, daddy," I said. "I love sucking cock. I love sucking my daddy's big cock. Let me suck on your big cock and get your hot juice in my mouth."

"Say 'please.'"

"Please, daddy. Please. Please. Let me suck on your big thick dick and swallow your thick white cum."

"If that's what you really want, okay," he said generously.

I nodded happily as I put his cock back in my mouth and went to work on it.

I sucked for quite a while. He just kept getting harder. It seemed that blowjobs just didn't do it for him. I lay down next to him on the bed. This time face up. With my legs in the air. I guided him over me, in between my raised legs. I held his spit-slick dick and once more fed it into my asshole. My asshole greeted it like an old friend this time. It opened right up to admit his dick. In. In, it went. And when it was all the way in, I felt his large hot balls smacking against my own balls. I wrapped my legs around him and let him fuck me missionary style.

"Just like a woman," he noted. "Just like fucking a hot cunt."

I slammed my hot cunt up against his balls. I wrapped my arms around him.

"Fuck me," I moaned. "Fuck my pussy, daddy. Fuck my hot wet pussy." He did.

His eyes were closed and he was so into fucking that for a few minutes, I think he forgot I wasn't a woman. "What a hot tight twat," he reveled. "What a sweet little pussy. Does sweet little pussy like daddy's big cock?"

"Yes. Yes," I raised my voice to make it sound more feminine. "My pussy loves daddy's big cock. Fuck my pussy. Shoot your hot cum into my pussy again."

He was so excited, I don't think he knew who or where he was anymore. I don't think he knew who I was anymore. He lowered his head and planted his lips over mine. He was giving me a hot, lustful, sexual, tonguekiss. This was more than I had ever imagined could happen. I kissed him back, licking his tongue top and bottom. Our combined saliva was running down my chin. I reached up and ran my fingers through his beautiful silky wavy white hair. He was so beautiful. So handsome. So strong. What a lover. But I had to get him off. This was still a medical emergency. If anything happened to him, the autopsy would show the drugs. If they traced my pharmaceutical purchases, I could go to prison for a long long time.

"Give me your hot thick cream," I begged him. "Shoot your milky seed up my uterus, daddy," I said, trying to extend the illusion that he was fucking a woman.

"What a sweet smooth pussy," he groaned. He started squeezing my nipples. Finding a flat hard chest, he opened his eyes and the illusion was spoiled.

I tried to get him back. "Fuck my cunt, honey," I begged him. "Fuck your lady's hot cunt. Shoot your jizz into your adoring submissive woman." "That ought to get him," I thought. It did.

"You want some daddyjuice?" he asked.

"Yes. Give me your daddyjuice. I want your precious daddyjuice. Fuck me, honey. Give me your daddyjuice."

"It's coming. It's coming. My daddyjuice is shooting out into your beautiful pussyhole. Take it. Take it. GGGGGRRRRRAAAAGGGGGHHHH."

"Aaahhhhh. Aaaaahhhh." I milked his cock with my educated ass and pulled the liquid out of his body into mine. I was flooded in a glorious wet warmth. "MMMMMMmmmmm," I sighed happily. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm."

I must have drifted off to sleep in his strong arms. I felt so protected. So loved. Never in my life......This was what I had always.......If only he could love me as I loved him. I slept.

I was in a beautiful little cottage with a white picket fence. I was in the kitchen baking a peach pie. My hair was long. I was naked except for a pretty flowered apron, which covered my front. I heard the front door open. It was my darling. He came into the kitchen with a large bouquet of roses. I took them and put them into a vase in the middle of the kitchen table. I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. I pressed my lips to his and kissed him passionately, as I ran my fingers through his thick silky white hair, as he gently kneaded my asscheeks with his own two hands. I felt liquid shooting out of my penis. I opened my eyes. I had had a wet dream. I was no longer a teenager, but I had had a wet dream.

I was lying on the bed, and as my eyes opened I saw Brock watching me with his cold blue eyes. He had seen the cum shoot out of my cock. He had a cold smile on his lips. I didn't want to believe the look in his eyes. I had fallen asleep in his strong arms. I had had that wonderful dream.

"What is it?" I asked timorously.

"I was kind of in a bad way last night. You helped me out."

"Yes," I admitted.

"But you've sucked cock before."

I said nothing.

"You've had cock up your ass before."

I said nothing.

Suddenly he leaped forward and grabbed my arm. He twisted it brutally behind my back.

"OOOWWWW," I screamed. "You're hurting me."

"Admit it. You've had cock in your mouth before. You liked it too much."

I tried to pull away. He twisted. "OOOOWWWW," I yelled. "Okay, yes. I've had cock in my mouth before."

"You've had cock in your ass before, right?"

"Yes," I said. "I've had cock up my ass before."

"I knew it. Faggot. Filthy queer. Homo." He spit the words at me as he twisted my arm. He wasn't grateful anymore that I had eased his pain. "You were really getting off on sucking and getting your ass fucked. You were no Florence Nightingale angel of mercy worried about my health, you homo whore. You like getting banged like a woman.

"You're right," I admitted. "I'm everything you say I am."

"What did you give me?" he asked.

"Nothing," I protested.

He twisted again. I screamed. "What did you give me?" he asked again.

I named the three drugs.

"How?"

I described having ground them all up with the mortar and pestle.

"When?"

"When you went to the phone in the restaurant. I slipped it into your martini."

"The fake phone call?"

"Yes. I arranged it."

He gave my arm a final painful twist and then released it. Then he slapped my face left to right, right to left, left to right, right to left, left to right, right to left. "OOOwww. Stop," I pleaded.

"You disgust me," he said. "You disgusting perverted queer."

The tears were running down my face as I rubbed my poor arm and my poor face. I wasn't crying because of my arm or my face. I was crying for my shattered dream. I had really deluded myself that I could make him love me.

"I should fire you," he said. "I should really fire you, you queer."

He wouldn't fire me. He couldn't fire me now. He had gotten head from me. He had fucked my ass. I knew too much. If I opened my mouth it could be very embarrassing for him. People might think he was a perverted disgusting filthy queer. It was better that no one knew anything. About him. About me.

Back in the office, life went on as usual. Except that our meetings were cold and formal. He spoke to me only when he had to, and only about business. I was still in love with him. I still hated him. I did not fire Nicholas Logan, but Brock never brought up the subject again.

One day a surprising thing happened. I was waiting by the elevator to go to lunch, and when the elevator doors opened, out stepped Gregory, Brock Barry Peterson's gay son. I had met Gregory before. He was a nice boy. I liked him. I was really saddened by the way his father had rejected him.

"Gregory," I said in amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm having lunch with my dad," he said.

"You're having lunch with your dad?" I couldn't believe my ears. "I didn't know the two of you were speaking."

"We weren't, but we are now."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Just one day he called me and suggested we have lunch. We've had lunch a few times now."

"I'm so happy for you," I said. I put my arms around him and gave him a quick hug, but then the elevator doors opened and I had to go down for my own lunch. I couldn't help wondering if I had had anything to do with this miraculous reconciliation. But, no. That couldn't be. Peterson hated fags. Peterson hated me. I disgusted him. And I had done something really awful. Something unforgivable.

One day, I looked at the calendar with dread. It was a year later. The convention was again approaching. We were booked into a casino again. The Chesterfield in Las Vegas. Brock and I would be flying out together. Brock and I would be sharing a room. The same arrangements as the previous year. I was scared to death.

On the plane we each drank alcohol. We didn't speak. We avoided each other's eyes. It was going to be an unpleasant weekend. After we landed we grabbed a cab to the hotel and checked into our room. Again we had a very large room with two double beds. This year, I would definitely sleep in my own bed.

After we had hung our clothing in the closet, Brock said, "I'm going down to the craps table. Are you coming?"

"Okay," I said. We could at least try to be civil to each other during the convention.

At the craps table when I got the dice, I had another great roll. I brought in number after number. Hard eights. Hard sixes. Hard fours. Brock put a black chip on the twelve and looked at me. He said nothing. I took the dice and blew on them. I prayed to the god of gambling. I threw the dice. They spun. They rolled. They spun. A six on one. The other one was still rolling. It stopped. Another six. I had given him another twelve. Thirty to one. He piled his chips in front of him and said nothing to me.

When we finally left the table, I had made myself some money. He had made himself a lot of money with crazy bets that I brought in. We showered and lay down on our own beds. We had an eight o'clock reservation at The Lobster Lake, the hotel's renowned seafood restaurant. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of anything. He was lying on the next bed dressed in his skimpy tight white jockey shorts. His glorious white hair was freshly washed and brushed. It was hard not to think of anything. He had put on that wonderful cologne which he used. I breathed in the exciting fragrance. I tried not to think of anything.

We went down to the restaurant at eight o'clock. We were seated at a small table in the back, facing each other. He ordered his martini. I ordered my daiquiri. There was a beautiful multicolored wax candle burning in the center of the table. The flame flickered over his perfect skin and blinding white hair. It could have been romantic. It wasn't.

They brought the drinks. We didn't toast this year. I was about to take a sip, when there was an accident. The bread tray went flying off the table. Brock must have hit it with his sleeve. I know I didn't. I bent over and began picking up the rolls and breadstick.

"Leave that," Brock ordered. "Let the waiter get it."

I sat up. Brock lifted his glass to his lips and looked at me. "Am I safe this year or did you put something in my drink?"

"No. No. You're safe. I swear it."

"I don't know if I can believe you."

"I swear to you," I crossed my heart. "I didn't put anything in your drink. It's safe to drink. I would never do that again. You don't know how terrible I feel about what I did last year." I started to cry a little.

"Stop acting like a pussy," he said coldly. "Drink your cocktail."

I sobbed and dried my eyes and vowed to behave myself. We drank our drinks. Brock ordered South African lobster tail, and I ordered a two-pound Maine lobster. They brought our lobsters with plenty of melted butter and I happily dug in. I was wearing a bib, as I cracked the claws with a nutcracker and swallowed the succulent meat dripping with butter. I was so involved with the lobster that at first I wasn't noticing Brock. But then I was. He looked funny. He looked uncomfortable. He brow was sweating. We finished our meal. We had desert and espresso. We signed the check to the room number. I stood up to leave.

"I think we'd better go upstairs," said Brock. "You fucking bastard." My jaw dropped.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He stood up and I could once again see a bonsai redwood stretching out his pants. "But I didn't," I protested. "I swear, I didn't."

"Just go," he ordered. He had taken off his suit jacket and was holding it in front of him. We walked to the elevator and went up to the room.

The minute the door closed, he started ripping off his clothes. He started ripping off my clothes. "Get undressed," he ordered.

"I don't understand," I said.

He slapped me across the face. "I said, take off your fucking clothes," he said.

I rapidly undressed. He was dangerous. When we were both naked he pulled me over to his bed and lay down. His cock was sticking almost a foot up into the air. He grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. "Oooowww," I said.

"Suck my cock, faggot." I had little choice but to lower my head to his crotch as he twisted my arm. "Get it good and wet, fag. Go down on it. Is it stiff enough for you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Yes, who?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"That's better," he said, and pressed my head roughly down on his engorged cock. I was choking. I was coughing. I was dribbling. It was pounding into the back of my throat. He had no mercy. But it was sort of exciting too.

"Suck that big cock. Come on. You can do better than that. Suck it, goddamn it."

"Yes, sir," I assented, though I doubt if my words could be understood with a big cock all the way down my throat. I tongued it. I applied the greatest oral suction possible. He was angry-red hard and pulsating again. Just like last year. And he wasn't coming. I sucked and I sucked.

"You know what I'm going to do now, faggot?"

I knew, but I said, "what?"

"I'm going to fuck your faggot ass. Get on all fours. Like a dog," he ordered. "You ready for my cock, bitch?"

"Yes, sir. I'm ready for your big cock. Stick it into my asshole, sir."

He crawled up behind me and forced it mercilessly into my hole. I felt his white pubic hair scratching my asscheeks and his heavy balls swayed against my own, hitting them on every instroke. He was pounding and pounding me.

"Flatten out, bitch," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," I said, and lowered my body until I was flat on the bed. He followed, and without withdrawing his cock, lay down on my back. He wrapped his strong arms around my waist and pulled my rump up to him as he slammed down.

"You like this big thick daddydick in your ass, queerboy?"

I decided to tell the truth. "Yes. Yes. I love your daddydick in my hot ass. Fuck me, sir. Fuck me please, sir. Shoot your hot sticky cum in my ass, sir."

"Beg me, sissy."

"Yes. I'm begging you, sir. I want your hot white sperm in my belly. My ass wants to drink your cum." We were both getting off on the dirtytalk. And I just loved having to call him 'sir.'"

"I'm fucking my boy's hot little behind, and it feels so good. It feels just like a cunt. A greedy hungry cunt."

"Yes. Fuck my cunt, daddy, sir. Fuck my hot pussy. My hot pussy wants your juice." He started slamming away. I loved feeling his body slapping my jiggling cheeks. I loved the feel of his whiskers against the side of my face. I loved the smell of his cologne. I loved the feel of his cock grinding away inside my ass. I twisted the inner muscles of my canal, trying to make it great for him. Trying to squeeze out the juice building in those balls. The balls that were slamming against my cheeks.

"I'm going to shoot my jizm inside your hot little ass. Is that okay? Is that okay, fagboy?"

"Yes, sir. It's very okay. Give it to me. Give me your hot load. Give me your cum."

If it were even possible to fuck any faster and harder, he did it. And then suddenly. Stillness. We paused in freeze frame. "AAARRRGGGGHHHH," he screamed as his juice shot into me time and again. My asswalls fluttered around his spout and produced a wetness of their own. I was having an ass orgasm. Strange, but wonderful.

We lay there for a half hour not moving. He was still on top of me. His cock was still in my ass. A half hour later, I felt it getting hard again inside me and he started grinding his asscheeks in a second fuck.