Slippery Sloping

"I live in Wan Chai," he continued.

Ah, it wasn't a shift at all.

"I get off in twenty minutes. I'll fuck you like you've never been fucked before. But one thing if you go with me."

"What?" I said, having no intention of going anywhere with him on the basis of our first sexual banter.

"If you go with me, I won't give you a fuckin' thing. I'll take everything you have and use it all. I'll leave you gasping for air and emptyhanded. But I'll leave you with a big, satisfied grin on your face. It's the sailor way."

He couldn't have known, but after months of Jared Bradford, wondering if there was more to be had, and negotiating for position at the accounting firm, Trung saying that was why I went with him.

"Are you propositioning me, Trung?" I asked, putting a feigned look of shock on my face.

"Yes," he answered. "That's what we've been doing here the last fifteen minutes--me making you. And you're salivating to go with me. I'm the sailor of your dreams. You need to be controlled and used."

How did he know what I dreamed about?

Trung fucked me like I'd never been fucked before, in a tiny, one-room walkup above a fish shop. The bed pretty much was a cushioned quilt taking up almost the entire floor of the room. I was totally fucked by a hard-bodied naked man between my naked, spread legs, pinning me to the quilt with a cock to die for. He was everything he had promised. He had a black shaft to make the Congolese proud. He stuffed me and spread me and stretched me and fucked me for an hour. And I fucked him back, bending at the knees enough to lift my pelvis to him and sway with the thrusts of his hard, thick shaft.

And he was rough enough to do sailors proud too. He was strong and muscular and solid and he manipulated me at will. He gave me no respect and I melted to him. It was all about him taking, and I became his slave.

"I told you so," he gloated after the first time, as I lay, spent and purring under him, in his embrace, him still inside me.

He did missionary the second time too but in a way Jared never did. He did it Kama sutra style, he said, the two of us facing each other, sitting on his legs cross-legged, and me sitting on his thighs, my legs wrapped around his butt, and him embracing me close, his huge dick inside me and him pulling me on and off the cock and rocking me back and forth, making sure he punished every surface of my passage. He then pushed my shoulder blades to the quilt and continued pulling me on and off his shaft, increasing in intensity, speed, and depth, until he twisted me around and fucked me from the rear, pistoning me hard, brutally as I writhed under his control and screamed out my ruination.

Running his arms under my pits then, he pulled my back up into his chest and continued fucking me. He was rough and demanding and fully possessing and full of cum, releasing again and again as I cried out to the heavens, my cries lost in the hubbub of the street noise just beyond his flimsy walls.

When he released me to collapse in a heap in front of him, he wasn't finished with me. I was still panting and working to gather my breath, when he grabbed at me for a third go at me. I crawled toward the door, but he picked me up and slammed me down on the quilt. He slapped me across the face and strapped me on the buttocks with a leather belt, tied my wrists together, put me on all fours, and fucked me again.

"You wiped me out," I whimpered when he was done.

"And it was what you wanted, what you needed," he answered. "Sailor style."

Trung had been right. Jared didn't have a particularly big cock. And Jared could barely claim to fuck.

Trung fucked. Trung had a pride of the Congo cock. Trung didn't give me a moment's respect. He fucked rough. Trung wiped me out.

We went downstairs and ate supper at a street noodle stand outside of the fish shop with Trung gripping my wrist the whole time as if I might try to bolt and run. I was his captive and he was my master. And then we went back upstairs and he wiped me out again, pushing me down on my belly as we entered his room, tying my wrists behind my back, mounting me, and riding my ass hard. He made me feel like I was his slave and he was going to use me all up.

He did use me all up.

After he could come no more, he still didn't free me. He turned me on my back, slapped my legs open, and hovered over me, working my passage with a thick dildo and stroking me off until, exhausted and whimpering, I had come again for him.

I somehow made it home that night, but I called in sick--being too-well-fucked--at work the next day, not, of course, using that exact excuse. I had hurt after Jared had taken me that first time, but I HURT after Trung ravished me. The former was discomforting; the latter was momentous.

I had now been bedded by two men. There was quite a contrast between them. One man gave me a job. The other man brutalized me and used me up completely. He gave me nothing but satisfaction. So, why was it the second man who appeared in my dreams to cover me?

I now knew how it felt to be owned--to have been made a slave to a master. Jared owned my ambition. Trung owned my body. Trung told me he didn't want me to forget him. I never would. I will always remember him standing naked over my prostate and trembling body, muscular, black, solid, tattooed, hung, showing a determined sneery smile, and holding a dildo at the ready, demanding that I open my legs to him, and challenging me to try to escape him--and then fucking me again.

I opened my legs to him again and again, and when I grew too weary to open them, he opened them himself.

* * * *

"Come in and close and lock the door," Jared Bradford said.

So, it was going to be one of those afternoons. I did so.

"I need you to help me with something," he said a bit coyly, and he turned his chair to the side behind the desk of his office so that I could see that he had his fly open and his cock out and being fisted by his hand. It was a game Jared like to play to assert his control over me. No longer needing direction in this scenario, I moved to him, went down on my knees in front of him, took the cock in my mouth, and gave him head.

He came on my face. He'd taken a handkerchief out of his pocket--an expensive linen one--and handed it to me. "Here, clean yourself up. I'm afraid I got some in your hair. You can keep the handkerchief."

I had a collection of them now. Wiping myself off I stood and moved back toward the door.

"Wait, I didn't call you in for that. I wanted to let you know that the deputy chief position in the accounting department is opening up and, although you are young for that--"

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"I'm not the only one in making a decision, but I do have my say. The one who gets the job would need to be a team player, looking out for the firm, doing what he can to pull in new, important clients."

"Who do I have to let ball me?" I asked. "And how do you know he would want to do me?"

"His name is Clayton Dodson. He's Australian, quite wealthy, and is looking for a new accounting firm. He saw you the other day here in the office when we were pitching him. He asked me about you and I told him how cooperative you were."

"So, he wants to fuck me if he comes with our firm."

"Yes, he wants to fuck you. We have an information packet for him. It's here on my desk. We'd like you to deliver it in person. The address is on the packet. Give him whatever he wants. I don't expect you back for the rest of today."

You can't get any clearer than that.

The address I went to was just another one of the glass skyscrapers that was less than fifteen years old but that, in Hong Kong, would be determined as an old building nearing needing to be replaced with a taller glass skyscraper. Dodson's business took up the top three stories of the building and the top floor, with terracing, seemed to be pretty much just one office and living space--Dodson's--plus a pool terrace.

He was in the swimming pool on the terrace on the narrow side of the building. The pool was against the outer edge of the building, running nearly the entire length of the building's side. When I was ushered out onto the terrace, there were two figures in the pool, at the far end, at the corner of the building. A young Asian man, probably Chinese, as we were in Hong Kong, was bent over the lip of the pool on his belly, his arms extended over his head and his legs dangling in the pool. A larger, robust, florid man was hovering over the Asian's back, fucking him.

When the larger man realized that someone had come out onto the terrace, he pulled out of the Asian and swam over to the pool beside where I was standing, packet in hand, on the terrace. He came to the lip of the pool, folded his arms on the edge, lowered his chin to a forearm, and gave me a searching look.

"Yes, you are the cute one I asked for."

"I'm Craig Littlepage," I said, adding the firm name I represented. "I was given this package to give you."

"And to give me whatever I wanted too, right?"

"Yes, to give you whatever you wanted."

"Yes, yes, put it on that table over there and then come back and strip down. Let me see what we've got to work with."

I turned to the table and left the package there. The top of the table was littered with condom packets, both unopened and slit open and the contents removed. They were XL Magnums.

The mantra "Give him whatever he wants" recycled through my brain as I returned to the side of the pool, stripped down, and posed for the man.

"Yes, very nice. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four, sir."

"Experienced? Men fuck you?"

"Yes, sir." It was just the two so far, but I couldn't get any better fucked than Trung did.

"Big-cocked men? You open up OK and quickly?"

"Yes, sir." Couldn't get any bigger than Congolese cock.

"Turn around, bend over, pull your cheeks open, and show me your hole. Good, you'll open up nicely."

Truong had taken care of that.

"Good," he repeated. "Let's do it in the sauna."

He rose from the water. He was a walrus of a man--big, heavy, and hirsute, robust and ruddy, strawberry blond hair turning to gray, more blond in the pubes than on the head. He had to be at least fifty. His balls were the size of lemons and hung heavy from his body. I didn't see the cock at first. It was stubby even in an erection that must have been raised for the small Asian still bent over the lip of the pool on the far side, but interrupted by my presence. It was stubby, but it was extraordinarily thick. It looked, as he lumbered out of the pool, to be all mushroom cap. The XL Magnum had to be for girth, not length.

When he was out of the pool, standing and toweling himself off, I saw more length to the shaft, if not much, and noted that he was sheathed and the bulb of the condom was filled. So, he'd had sex with the Asian in the pool. I hadn't interrupted that when I'd arrived. I wondered how soon he could have sex again. He was well past fifty. What was left of his libido, I wondered.

Was my timing off in visiting him? Jared had known I was coming straight here. Of course Jared probably wouldn't have known that the Aussie was having a nooner in the pool already.

The answer was, yes, my timing was off, and, no, he didn't have a quick reaction time. And his comment about me opening quickly or not obviously was related to how long he could stay hard even when he could get hard.

The fuck in the sauna was not a resounding success. He changed condoms before we went there. He was proficient enough in preparing a partner. He sat me on an upper tier of benching around the sauna wall and hovered in front of me, using his hands and mouth to work me up and bring me into heat.

I was murmuring, "Yes, yes, fuck me. Stick it in. Screw me," not only because I knew he'd like hearing that but also because I was more than ready for the cock, wondering how it would be like that thick but without much length. I also wanted to heighten his arousal enough for him to get on with it and get over with it.

But he wasn't getting hard enough for good penetration. I got my hands into the act, grasping him and working his cock while his hands worked mine and the rest of my body. I was more than ready, rocking against his body and moaning my need.

He got into position, between my thighs, kneeling on the next lower tier, my ankles on his shoulders. He was hard enough to lodge inside my hole, and I panted hard and groaned as he moved deeper, stretching me to the limit with his extraordinary girth. He did manage three or four thrusts and he did come to some extent--in the condom. But that was it.

He was polite enough to bring me off, embracing me closely, the heel of a hand pressed under my balls, and his fingers inside me, stroking my prostate until I came. I worked at giving him whatever satisfaction and feeling of mastery as I could, rocking on his hand, whimpering, murmuring, "Yes, yes, you're driving me wild. You're killing me. Make me come," and then coming for him. But I wasn't anywhere close to being satisfied, which was neither here nor there considering what the assignment was. But it was clear it was all too fast and too short of heaven for him as well. And the cock play had been miserable. He had been emasculated and there wasn't a damn thing I could say to make him believe otherwise. He'd been given his yielding young male of choice and he hadn't delivered.

He was polite but distant after that. I was prepared to stay the night, and if I had, I probably could have worked him up to satisfaction, but I could tell he was embarrassed, despite his bravado, that he hadn't delivered and that he couldn't get me out of there fast enough.

It was still light out when I got down to the street. I could have gone back to the office and Jared would still be there. I didn't want to report the unsatisfactory results of the visit just then, though. It, of course, would be my fault. There had to be somewhere else I could go. I was sexually keyed up. Dodson had prepared me well. He just hadn't delivered.

It wasn't Jared who I needed now, and I'd only been with one other man before the disaster with the old Aussie. I could have gone to a gay bar and hooked up, but there was no guarantee that would result in satisfaction either. I didn't have experience in doing hookups on the street or in bars. I was in heat. I needed a reliable fucking.

I went to the American Club, but Trung wasn't on duty there. I went from there to Wan Chai to the Chinese market area there, which was as vibrant and alive at night as it was during the day. I went to his small room above the fish shop. He was wearing just a red silken robe with the golden dragon on it. His welcome was a knowing, sneery smile.

"You've come for young Congolese cock," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I answered.

"You're flushed. You've just been with a man. The old cock man, Jared?"

"Yes, I've been with a man. Yes, old cock. No, not Jared. Someone the firm wants as a client. He couldn't deliver."

"I deliver."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

"I give nothing. I just take."

"I understand."

"I own you," he growled.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"You own me. Just fuck me. Screw me now."

"Get naked, lie on your back, open your legs for me, and lift your tail. Give yourself completely to me. I'm going to destroy your hole this time."

When I had done so, he stood over me, between my spread and bent legs, a black god, devouring me with his eyes, working his erection up with his hand. I moaned deeply for him, grasping and pulling on my own erection.

We were interrupted at that point and it could have ruined everything, but it didn't. Another young man--Chinese, young, cute, and willowy--appeared at the room's door. He looked confused and dismayed when he saw us in that position.

Trung saw him and growled, "Come back in a couple of hours," and the young man disappeared.

So, I had interrupted an assignation already planned. Come back in two hours, he'd said. This was just an assembly line fuck then. I should have been indignant. But I was stifled that. I was in sexual need and he was a sailor.

"Fuck me. Screw me," I whimpered.

Trung returned to standing over me and pulling on his meat. When fully hard, he stripped off his robe and stood there, magnificent, muscular, tattooed, black, dangerous, in full, heavy, thick, long Congolese erection. I lay, trembling, on my back, legs open wide, knees turned out, arms open wide, in throbbing erection, completely open and vulnerable to him.

"Show me your hole."

I did.

"Put your thumbs in it. Open it wide." I did. "Oh, my, my, my."

"Do me, fuck me, screw me, take me, use me," I whimpered. "Be a sailor."

With a growl, he pounced, covering me, shoving his young, massive Congolese cock up into my passage as I yowled from the savage invasion, spreading and stretching, possessing, and grasping and beating off my cock. I arched my back, crying out as I shot my loads in high arcs onto his chest--once, twice, three times.

He fucked the shit out of me. He slayed me. Taking no prisoners, giving no quarter, he did battle on my vulnerable body with his young Congolese cock, tearing my cries of pain, passion, and ecstasy out of me as he satisfied his animal lust on my body--again and again and again.

And, in doing so, he satisfied my need for young, virile, vigorous cock as well.

I was hobbling down the stairs from Trung's room when my cellphone went off. It was Jared.

"Where are you? Dodson wants you to come back."

"I went. I tried. He couldn't... it just didn't work out," I said. I couldn't say that the man couldn't keep it up. He was an Aussie. This would be important to him. He couldn't lose face this way in the Hong Kong business world. But of course that's why he wanted me to come back. "Listen, it's OK. I'll go on over," I answered and clicked off. I didn't know if I'd be able to handle this after having been wiped out by Trung. I didn't know if I would be able to put in the effort to get the man up enough to carry through with a fuck.

It turns out I didn't have to. The man had powerful enhancement pills. All I had to do was keep assuring him that he was The Man.

The bedroom opened up on the pool where we'd first met.

"Strip and bend over that bed," he said as he went into the bathroom and closed the door. I did so, at the side of the bed where I could look out at the pool no matter where this went.

He was naked and sheathed when he came out of the bathroom. He also was erect enough for action. I wouldn't say he was average in length, but he was long enough to keep contact and do some serious plowing. He made up for any deficiency there, though, by being extraordinarily thick--one of those beer can cocks. I would suffer.

I did suffer. He knelt behind me, grasped my wrists with his hands to hold me captive, and expertly ate me out, turning my knees to jelly, making me writhe under him, and causing me to call out, "Fuck me! Screw me! Stick it in and fuck the shit out of me." I would have said something like this to buck up his pride anyway, but pretense wasn't necessary.

He rose, palmed my belly, and cupped my chin, pulling my head back into his beefy chest. He made me suffer getting saddled. And then he fucked me. He screwed me. He fucked the shit out of me. The thickness of him is what did it--that and the pill keeping him hard for an hour.

Afterward, he let me collapse in place on the bed and I remained, bent over the bed and watching him, as he strutted out to the pool and swam laps. He was an Aussie. This was for his pride. He was vindicated.

When he came back, he said, "You're staying the night."

Before we went off to sleep, he went on his back on the bed, and I rode his still-erect cock in a Cowboy. I was exhausted toward the end, but he wasn't. He grasped my waist and slammed me up and down on his shaft until we'd both come. This was for his pride. He was making a point.