Per Anum Ch. 11: Branch Bingo

He gave a guttural groan when I licked the pearlescent droplet from the tip, rolling back his foreskin with my tongue so I could get to the sweet spot just beneath the head. A low table stood in the curve of the bench seat, for drinks or what have you, but it was under the table I reached, withdrawing a slim bottle. Even as I started sucking in earnest, swallowing him down in one long glide that had him arching on the bench, I squeezed a dollop of lube out of the bottle onto my forefinger and slipped it down between his legs.

With his pants still around his ankles, he could only spread his knees so far, but it was enough for my hand to get behind his heavy balls to seek out his hole. I knew I'd found it when his whole body bucked, pushing his cock into my mouth and his hole against my finger.

"Oh, fuck, do it," he groaned. "Put it in."

I cheerfully obliged, rubbing my finger around the rim of his sphincter before pushing the remaining lube inside him. His hole flexed and squeezed, probably involuntarily, but it seemed to grasp my finger and pull it farther in. He was squeezing so hard it was actually a bit of a struggle to pull it back out for more lube, but it opened readily when I pushed my fingertip back in. A bit deeper, a bit of a curl, and I was stroking my fingertip across the gentle bump of his prostate, causing salty-sweet precum to abruptly flood my mouth.

"Shit!" he yelped. "God, right there!" His hands were sort of flailing around, grabbing at the bench, my hair, his own body. Every stroke of my finger made his whole body shudder, especially when I timed it to coincide with the motions of my mouth on his cock. I worked him over for a bit, inside and out, experimentally trying to see how many different noises I could wring out of him while he gasped and squirmed.

Things started to get out of hand when I added a second finger. He arched completely off the bench until only his shoulders and head were pressed to the seat, his hips entirely airborne. He sort of locked up in that position, his body tense as a drawn bow, until I stroked his prostate again and made him go all gooey once more, sprawling back across the bench. I added more lube and started really stretching him open, scissoring my fingers apart and spreading lube as far as I could inside him.

He was begging by the time I put in the third finger. "Please," he gasped, quivering as I pushed my fingers deeper into him. "Oh God, yes. Give it to me, please." I'd stopped sucking him, concerned about driving him over the edge, and his cock was all but pouring precum, a gleaming string connecting his spit-slick cock to the growing puddle on his stomach.

I didn't relent until he'd lost the power of speech completely. He was a shuddering, sweating, gasping wreck of a man when I finally lubed my cock and rolled him onto his stomach on the bench, his knees on the floor and me crouching over him. When I breached his gaping, slick hole with the head of my cock, his spine arched, hips rolling back to take me inside him faster.

Holding his hips steady, I slowly thrust forward, pushing about half my length into him before drawing back. He groaned as I withdrew, hips bucking and hole clenching to try and keep me in him. Chuckling, I thrust forward again, deeper this time, still not quite to the root but more than enough to make us both gasp. He squeezed me even tighter when I tried to pull back, dragging a groan from my own throat, so I gave in and just buried my cock to the hilt in his ass. The combination of his tight heat, the slick clench of his body around me, the desperate noises coming from his mouth--even half muffled from having his face pressed to the seat--almost drove me over the edge right there.

Clamping down on myself, I started thrusting for real, gradually picking up speed even as he kept squeezing and clenching on me erratically. The sticky slap of my hips against his ass filled the small space, reverberating oddly with the bass from the main club vibrating through the floor. I pounded into him, faster and faster, no longer capable of holding back now that I'd finally cut loose. He squirmed and writhed and gasped out incoherent half-formed words, his hands clutching spastically at the seat.

Tired of my awkward half-crouch, I seized him around the waist and lifted him bodily up onto the seat, so he was kneeling on the bench itself instead of the floor. That made it much easier to thrust into him deeply, making sure to grind my cock over his prostate with every stroke. If anything, he started to buck and shudder even more than he had been before, his body hardly able to stay upright. Just to see how much he could take, I reached down and wrapped a hand around his slick, dripping cock, giving it a squeeze and starting to stroke it as I thrust.

That, it transpired, was a bridge too far. With a gasping cry he came into my hand, his load splattering across my fingers and onto the bench. His hole clamped down on my cock like a vise, and it was all I could do not to follow him over the edge. On the other hand, why shouldn't I? What was I waiting for? I kept thrusting as much as I could with him squeezing so tightly, feeling the roiling pressure building in my balls.

My companion, of course, was all but lost to the world, his head sagging down between his arms as his body shuddered through the last aftershocks of his orgasm. As his tight grip on me eased, I started thrusting faster again, slamming into him with reckless haste until I couldn't take any more. Shoving my cock in to the hilt, I felt the dam break and pumped my load into his ass. Bliss rolled up from my balls and overwhelmed my brain. Groaning deep in my throat, I hung onto him for dear life and tried to ride it out without toppling over. I just held myself there for a long moment, my body shuddering and twitching.

Once I could see in the normal spectrum again, I pulled out of his ass and let him collapse to the bench in a sticky sprawl. Reaching back under the table, I replaced the lube and pulled out the pack of wet wipes I keep down there too, quickly cleaning myself up before offering one to my companion...who, it became apparent, had passed clean out and was fast asleep.

I debated for a moment, shrugged, and got dressed. He'd be safe enough in here, no one uses the Master's Suite but me when I'm on the premises. I cleaned up what I could for him--he didn't so much as twitch--left the wet wipes in plain view and closed the door behind me as I left.

Flagging down a passing waiter, I jerked my thumb at the private booth. "Hey, if a hot, confused-looking guy comes out of there in the next few minutes, get him a drink on the house. If he doesn't come out in the next half hour, go in and check on him, then get him that drink." I smirked. "He earned it."

The waiter laughed. "Sure thing, Dante." I watched him go for a moment--the VIP wait staff uniform consists of tiny shorts and not much else--then headed for Glen's office.

I barely had time to smugly cross the Air Force off my list on his whiteboard before a bartender called up to report a shortage...then maintenance had an issue, then one of the bouncers, then another thing and another after that. For over an hour I had to actually do club owner work (shudder). Glen, inevitably, took care of twice as many issues as I did in the same time, but even he couldn't be everywhere at once, so I needed to step in and help out.

Tired and irritated after solving yet another problem that shouldn't have happened in the first place, much less needed me to solve, I was about to head back upstairs when a commotion on the main floor drew my eye. Two men were glaring at each other, body language clearly confrontational. Where were the bouncers? Oh right, they were handling the dozen other things that had cropped up in the last ten minutes. Sighing mentally, I made my way over.

One man, clearly the aggressor, was tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair, a square jaw and hard eyes. The anchor tattoo peeking out from one sleeve confirmed what I'd already suspected: this was a military man, obvious from his bearing alone, and he was pissed. His opponent was smaller and darker, probably Latino from the bronze skin tone. Though a good head shorter than the first guy, he was a compact block of muscle that stretched the fabric of his shirt...upon which dangled a pair of dog tags. Oh, good, intra-military conflict. No way this could get super complicated or anything.

"...I'm just saying, you coasties need to learn your place," the tall guy was saying. Was there a bit of sway in his stance? A drunken, belligerent sailor starting a brawl was not what I needed right now.

"Our place?" the shorter guy shot back, fists clenched. "My crew has stopped four smuggler vessels and rescued over a dozen people this year. When's the last time your ship even left port?" So, this was a Coast Guard vs. Navy pissing match. That explained the "coasties" thing. I'd heard there was some rivalry there, but this was so not okay in my club.

I stepped up beside but not quite between them, feet planted and hands behind my back. "Gentlemen," I barked. "Explain yourselves." Fun fact: if you speak authoritatively enough from a commanding posture, most military types will reflexively obey you thanks to all that training. Both men jerked up straight and turned to face me, only to look confused when they saw me instead of some admiral or something.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded the tall guy.

"He owns the club, you idiot," said the other.

"Correct," I said. "And I'd love to hear a reason not to throw you both out right now."

"What?" the Navy guy all but yelled. "We didn't do shit!" People around us were starting to notice, which only seemed to embolden him. Perhaps giving him an audience was exactly the wrong tactic.

"Follow me," I commanded. "Or get out." Turning briskly, I headed for the stairs. An idea had started to percolate through my brain. Navy. Coast Guard. There was no way...was there? Could I really pull that off?

I didn't look back, just striding purposefully through the crowd that instinctively cleared a path for me. A glance in one of the many mirrors around the walls, though, showed the two troublemakers dutifully trudging along after me. I led them up to the VIP level, then into the manager's office. Glen was elsewhere, probably still dealing with the endless cavalcade of issues, so I was able to strike a convincingly authoritative pose at his desk as if it were mine.

...Then I realized that my mission objectives were still written across the whiteboard in large, obvious letters, and scrambled to keep their attention on me so they wouldn't notice it. With the pair standing dutifully--if a trifle sullenly--before the desk, I started casually pacing to the other side, forcing them to look at me and away from the whiteboard.

"So, if I'm understanding correctly, you're Navy," I nodded to the tall angry guy, "and you're Coast Guard?" I looked to the shorter one. They nodded. "Let me be clear: I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my establishment. I don't care whose boat is bigger, you're all guests here, and you'll behave as such. Am I understood?" They nodded again. I eyed them for a moment. "Was there even an actual issue between you, specifically, or was this all just some kind of dick-measuring contest?" We actually held dick-measuring contests at Club Inferno twice a year, but that wasn't the point.

"The latter, sir," said Coast Guard guy. "Ensign Meyers here just had one too many and lost comms between his brain and mouth."

The tall sailor, Meyers apparently, scowled. "And Petty Officer Gonzalez would know all about mouth control issues." He seemed noticeably less intoxicated now; maybe the adrenaline of getting called out had sobered him up some? Or he'd been playing up the drunkenness so he could get away with things sober men couldn't.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Dick-measuring contest it is, then. Well, we might as well cut out the middleman," I said briskly. "Drop your pants, let's solve this once and for all."

They stared at me. "I'm sorry, what?" Gonzalez spluttered.

"You can't be serious," Meyers blurted.

"You heard me," I said.

"Wait, you actually want us to..." Meyers trailed off as I stepped up to him, nose to nose.

"Drop. Your. Pants. Sailor," I commanded, biting off each word. Something told me this guy liked taking orders in more than one way. It's often the bossy types who enjoy it the most when someone else takes control.

Sure enough, his eyes dropped, unable to hold my gaze, and he started undoing his pants. I glanced at Gonzalez, raised one imperious eyebrow, and waited. Gonzalez looked at me, looked at Meyers as he obediently pushed his pants to his ankles, and realization dawned in his eyes. With a small smile twitching on his lips, he gave a little shrug too small to draw Meyers' attention and followed his example.

With two strapping specimens now bare from the waist down, I started feeling some twinges in that vicinity myself, but I had to play it cool. "Hard to measure when they're soft," I said. "Stiffen those up, we don't have all night." Meyers' cock was already twitching and growing visibly, just from the situation, but he started to jerk it with one hand, and Gonzalez followed suit. My own pants were definitely feeling rather constrictive by the time both were fully erect, so I had to struggle not to adjust myself and ruin the game.

"All right, let's settle this. Come on, it's too late to be shy now." I stepped forward and took each man by the dick, pulling them together so I could compare. Gonzalez's breath hitched as I took him in hand, and Meyers groaned in his throat when I slid their cocks up against one another. I rubbed them together a bit more than was necessary for a size comparison, and both men were breathing rather unevenly by the time I eventually lined them up for the verdict.

"Well, that seems clear enough," I said, maintaining my businesslike attitude. "Meyers is longer--" the taller man grinned in triumph, but I held up a finger, "--but Gonzalez is thicker. Seems it's a draw." Both looked stumped by that conclusion, unsure how to proceed, but I kept going before they could get a word out. I unzipped my fly, allowing my own erection to pop out and fall neatly atop the two I still held up against one another. "Or, it would be, but it turns out I'm bigger than you both. Guess I win."

Before either man could do more than look surprised--well, Gonzalez looked more amused than anything, he'd figured the game out already--I wrapped my hands around all three cocks at once and started sliding them against each other, rubbing them together between my hands in a delicious tangle. "And for my prize..." I moved one hand to each of their shoulders and gently pushed down. "To your knees, gentlemen."

They complied readily enough, and neither needed further instruction once they got down there. Meyers took the head of my cock into his mouth at once, sucking and licking hungrily. Gonzalez went in at an angle, licking up the shaft until he too reached the head, and slid his tongue into Meyers' mouth. All antagonism apparently forgotten, Meyers responded eagerly, their tongues dueling over my cockhead, an exquisite slithering slickness that had me gasping. I put one hand on each of their heads, drawing them together until they were all but making out across my cock.

Motion further down drew my eye, and I saw Gonzalez reach over and grab Meyers' erection, stroking and jerking it. Meyers moaned, half muffled between Gonzalez's mouth and my cock, and returned the favor, reaching over to stroke Gonzalez as well. More clothing started coming off, me unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it aside as the pair pulled my pants the rest of the way down and off. First Gonzalez pulled back a bit, just enough to yank his snug T-shirt over his head and drop it, then dove back in so Meyers could do the same without them leaving my cock unattended.

In the moments Meyers was away, Gonzalez started sucking me in earnest, taking my erection fully into his mouth and swallowing most of it down his throat. Finding his previous position unavailable upon his return, Meyers ducked lower instead, his tongue finding my balls. I groaned as he started in on them, my hands reflexively tightening on both their heads.

Gonzalez was bobbing fast now, swallowing me down again and again. It was kind of awkward with both their heads there, so I reluctantly tugged Meyers off me and pushed him down. "Suck him while he sucks me," I ordered, and he set to with a will. With me standing over them and Gonzalez kneeling before me, Meyers got on all fours so he could reach Gonzalez' cock with his mouth and gobbled it down at once. I felt more than heard Gonzalez moan around my shaft as Meyers took his entire length in one go, the muscles of Gonzalez's torso quivering as he shuddered in pleasure.

Meyers' new position left the taut globes of his well-muscled ass all but waving at me as he went to town on Gonzalez, a tantalizing view just out of my reach. That, of course, could not stand. Holding Gonzalez's head to keep his mouth on me, I eased us both to the floor, turning our three-tier arrangement into a flat triangle as Meyers sucked Gonzalez, Gonzalez sucked me, and I buried my face in Meyers' ass. He squirmed and groaned around Gonzalez's cock as my tongue found his hole, toying with the tight rim and pushing saliva inside.

I worked his hole until it loosened up a bit, using my tongue to coat every surface I could reach with spit and relishing every half-muffled gasp and moan I wrenched out of Meyers. Gonzalez had changed his pattern from fast, deep swallows to more thoroughly working the head of my cock, his tongue focusing on that one little spot below the head that sent ripples of pleasure up my spine with every touch. I added a finger to Meyers' hole, gently tugging the rim open and launching joint expeditions with my tongue into his heated depths.

This would go so much faster with lube, I thought. Had I stashed any in here? It was Glen's office, not mine, and I usually brought "guests" to my private booth like I had earlier...would Glen have any in here? Did Glen even have sex? If he did--which was sort of hard to imagine--I doubted he'd do it here. I pushed a second finger into Meyers, watching his back arch as he pushed his ass back against my hand. A teasing stroke of his prostate made Meyers' whole body shudder and buck. I grinned and decided that just having his ass wouldn't be enough.

I looked over at Gonzalez, still sucking away like a champ. "Start rimming me," I told him. "You're going to fuck me while I fuck him."

His mouth came off me with a wet pop. "Yes, sir," he said with mocking deference, then lifted my legs apart so he could get to my hole.

"That'll go much faster with actual lube," came a dry voice from the doorway. "Bottom drawer on the left."

The three of us froze and looked up to find my manager standing silhouetted in the door, all tweed and mild disapproval from head to toe. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and looked us over dispassionately.

"No, don't worry, I'll get it for you," he said, and stepped over Gonzalez's legs to walk around his desk. A moment's rummaging in a drawer, and he came out with a slim bottle of top-end lube, twin to the one I kept in my VIP booth. I'd wondered where that went, I'd been sure I'd ordered two. He handed it to me, expressionless as ever, and glanced from Gonzalez to Meyers and back. "Let me guess," he said, "Navy and Coast Guard?"

I grinned. "Yep! All five branches in one night, I finally pulled it off. Best Dog Tag Dance ever." As I spoke, I squeezed a bead of lube onto a finger and slid it back inside Meyers, making him jump and clench up in surprise. A moment's work and he was melting into a puddle of blissful ooze, though, as I spread the silky lube around inside him and gave extra attention to his sweet spot.