The Gentlemen's Club

Reinhart dug a single finger in, harder and harder, against his hole, the swing pushing forward higher and higher into the air as Taylor clenched tighter shut. Soon, gravity was pushing him back harder than Reinhart could push, and he could feel the tip of the finger starting to penetrate between his splayed legs.

A second finger joined and together they began to stroke as they pushed. Soon, Reinhart lost patience, and with a twist, he ripped a hole in the back of Taylor's underwear wide enough to feel the air against him. The swing dropped quickly and rocked back to level. Taylor strained against the cushion, but the straps held firm, and he squirmed instinctively as he felt Reinhart's breath between his cheeks. It smelled of tobacco in the room now, and it mixed with the already heady scent of leather and old musk coming from the place. There was a moment of silence while Reinhart let the rocking slow to a stop. Then the old man spat, a direct shot, sending a shiver up the boy's body.

The finger returned, rubbing the rim, the gentle rocking of the swing pushing him away, then sending him harder back against it. Minutes passed. Reinhart never slowed, nor grew impatient. His meaty finger circled the edge of his anus, then gently hooked and pressed against it. Taylor could feel it slipping around in the old man's saliva, could hear the sound of it. Every so often, the old man would lean in and spit again. It wasn't long before the insides of his crack were soaked, and it dribbled down his inner thigh.

But then the finger was gone. Instead, a fist kneaded its way inside his tight cheeks. It was well-lubricated, and churned and ground against him hard with slow determination. Taylor could hear, but not quite see the old man grab one of the chains that held the cushion aloft, driving the swing backward, sending him harder against his hairy fist. Every so often, a slick knuckle would slip into him, pressing at the entrance, turning and pushing, digging into him, then freeing itself again.

Taylor felt the first stirrings of his cock then. In an instant, the fist was gone, and a slick finger drove deep inside, right past the tight muscles.. It stroked once against the lining inside of his him, sending his muscles quivering again. The finger stayed as the man made a fist again and continued to twist away against him. When one finger wasn't tight enough, it became two, and they scooped downward inside of him, sending wet dribbles of pre-cum spilling against his underwear with each pass. Soon it became a third, and Reinhart could no longer make a fist, and instead let the swing go free as he pounded away inside of him, the thick muscles of his arm driving him nearly to the ceiling with each thrust, the fingers curled inside never leaving his body.

Then, the swing met no resistance. Taylor could feel the cool air against the inside of his gaping anus as he swung backwards through the air, and rocked forward again. After several passes, Reinhart stepped into view in front of him.

When the old man had taken him before, it had felt like a hand driving into him down to the elbow. He hadn't seen the man fully erect before, but he had felt it vividly inside of him. In his mind, he felt every curve of it was etched into him for life. And now he could see that his mental picture wasn't far off.

Beneath a pile of curling white hair laid a cock nearly a foot long and as wide as Taylor's forearm. Taylor barely had time to see it before the old man grabbed him by his hair, pulled his head back, and let gravity swing the boy half-way down the shaft of it.

Reinhart took a wider stance as the swing rocked back and grabbed the boy's hair with a second hand. The second swing came harder, driving a spray of spit and drool from the boy's mouth that coated the knotted muscles of the old man's legs. Reinhart pushed him back harder, letting gravity slam him back again. By the third time, Taylor could feel his face was turning purple, and spit dripped freely from his mouth. The man held the boy still and slid himself inside again.

"Breathe," Reinhart commanded.

Taylor could feel the shaft pressing against the edge of his throat, expanding it as far as the walls could go. His body shook violently, and the old man paused before pressing in deeper.

"Breath," he said again.

Inch by inch, Reinhart rocked his way further in. Taylor felt his body shivering violently, his eyes watering freely. He was choking, and he didn't dare to gag but he couldn't stop himself. The pressure from the shaft was nearing painful, but the head was like swallowing an apple whole.

Then, it was sliding out of him. Before he could gasp for air, the shaft of it swung into his face like a club. Reinhart whipped his lips with it as Taylor choked and spat. Then it was forced between his lips again, and the man was rocking the swing again, forcing it in deeper, digging toward his stomach. It wasn't long before Taylor's throat forced the man out again, gagging and spitting.

"You're going to take it, one way or the other," Reinhart warned.

Taylor shook his head miserably, as much as the straps would manage. He couldn't see through the tears, and he gagged and coughed air back into his lungs. The words didn't register until he felt the man's hands on his inner thighs.

"No," Taylor gasped.

The room went silent, and the hands stopped. He knew he'd made a mistake.

"What did you say, boy?"

Taylor swallowed hard, but before he could respond, a hand like a frying pan smacked against the side of his butt, sending a deafening crack across the room.

"I'm so sorry. Sir," he added quickly.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Each one found a new place to strike against his cheeks. Each one was followed by a short, silent break, so that he felt the full effect of it.

Two fingers slid inside the wet hole again. They curled and lifted him from the cushion as much as the straps would allow.

"What did you say, boy?"

"I'm so sorry, sir," Taylor said as fast as he could manage.

"Not good enough. Do you want me to stop, boy?"

"I want this, sir."

"Then beg for it, boy."

"Please, give me it, sir!" Taylor shouted.

"Give you what, boy?"

"Please fuck me with your cock, sir. Please fuck me with your massive cock. Please! Please be rough," he shouted.

Reinhart gripped him by the shoulder, and Taylor felt the swollen head of his cock against the rim of his hole. It still wouldn't fit.

"Please fuck me, sir! Stretch me, sir," he begged.

Reinhart glided the tip of it up and down, but still it wouldn't go.

"Use my tight asshole, sir. Fuck me so hard," Taylor gasped. "Leaving me dripping your cum. I want you to fuck my tight whole, daddy."

Reinhart re-doubled his grip on the boy, holding him by both shoulders and pumping his hips until the head breached the surface. A sound like a wail spilled from Taylor's lungs. Every muscle in his body pulled tight against the straps, and bucked hard against the cushion. They pulled and pulled until every last ounce of energy inside them was spent, and still Reinhart pumped against him, millimeter by millimeter, driving deeper inside.

Taylor felt a strip of fabric drift past his face. Before he had time to register it, it found his lips and Reinhart pulled it tight, gagging him, forcing his head back as far as it would allow. He tried to move it away, but the straps that held him to the cushion wouldn't let him. His moans were cut off and soon Reinhart was using it to pull the boy back into him, driving him deeper inside. He could feel the massive head of the cock burrowing into him, stretching him to his body's limit, digging deep, like he was being split in two.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Reinhart beat a heavy rhythm against the side of the boy's ass as he dug further in.

"Take it! Take my cock," Reinhart screamed, beating harder. Taylor could feel his thighs and cheeks growing sore and inflamed, but it was a distant pleasure compared to the rest. He couldn't take full breaths, it was like there wasn't room for air inside of him anymore. His whole body was stretched so tight, and the harder it tried to squeeze against Reinhart's massive erection, the harder Reinhart was getting, and the larger the head of his cock grew inside Taylor's body.

Soon the old man was too deep inside of him, too close, to swat at him properly, and his hands gripped the boy's hair again instead. Taylor could feel the man's bulging muscles as he pushed the boy away, then slammed him back harder. After a few seconds, he could feel the old man's hips sliding against his cheeks. He could feel the warm sack slapping against his own, in perfect rhythm. He could feel the head stiffening inside of him, and twisting, churning, stroking every nerve inside his body. He could feel the heavy pulse of the vein that stroked against his prostate. And he could feel the pushes and pulls getting more violent, more urgent. His body was getting used like a toy, with as little concern. His asshole was gaping open and singing with pleasure. Soon, the only sounds in the room were the wet sounds of meat slapping against each other, and Taylor's muffled moans.

When he came, the old man dug in hard, claiming him fully. Both their bodies pulled tight to their very limits. Taylor could feel the head jerking inside of him, spraying its seed wildly, flooding his body with it. It felt deep enough inside of him that he could nearly feel it in his throat again. The man wrapped his arms around around Taylor's neck, dropping the sash, and pinned him tight until his orgasm finally finished, minutes later.

Days passed. Sometimes Taylor was bound and abused. Sometimes he begged for it like a dog. He fought it each time, but the man could bring him to orgasm with near effortless efficiency. With a tongue against his asshole, he found the man could bring him to a finish again and again, long after he had any seed left to spill. And then he'd be facedown in the puddle, and the man would drill him into the ground, and sometimes he'd cum again, and sometimes he'd just let the old man take what he needed. By the time Taylor stumbled back into the hallway, he could take Reinhart nearly down to the hilt without gagging, though his body still bucked like it was a rodeo when the man tried to mount him. All the way to the end. It was simply too much for a body to take.

Frederick was waiting for him in his apartment when he stumbled in, nude, half-covered in welts, and more than half-soaked in old semen. His lips were puffy, his holes still wet and leaking with lube and fresh seed. Where straps had been, there were red marks that would linger for weeks. He limped, having spent so little time standing in days, and the lingering soreness of penetration. Every bit of him was used, sticky, and stank of man. He could feel his insides still stretched wide, leaving a hollow feeling behind. His balls ached. He had been milked dry the first evening, and that hadn't slowed Reinhart's demands for a moment. Every drop he'd made and been spilled just as quickly.

For the first time in a decades, he felt absolutely in control.