Just Scratching an Itch

One of the girls' voices responded. I couldn't make out exactly who it was or what she said but I thought I caught, ". . . really give him . . . ." Then something from Dave in an affirmative tone. More female giggles.

"Okay then, ladies, come on in," said Dave, his voice returning to its normal, audible volume. He reappeared from around the corner of the dividing wall, followed by the sweet-looking blonde and the smoking-hot, pale brunette from before, as well as a third girl I hadn't seen in their room — a willowy, exotic-featured black girl almost as tall as Dave. The girls were all dressed to the nines, ready for a night on the town. Tight little dresses that left little to the imagination clinging to fit, lithe young bodies. Meticulously applied makeup, heavy on the eyeliner, making nasty suggestions. High-heeled shoes. Impractically tiny handbags. Each girl carried a red drink in a clear, plastic hotel cup. Vodka-cranberries, I guessed.

Dave was beaming. "Shawn, we have company!" I shivered in place, still sitting on the bed hugging my knees. "Well, don't be shy — stand up," he prodded. I hesitated for a moment, and his eyes narrowed threateningly, unnoticed by the girls. I swallowed hard and climbed off the bed, standing at its foot, my hands in fig-leaf formation covering my penis.

"I said, 'don't be shy,' Shawn," Dave repeated, a note of warning in his voice." Put your hands down; we're all friends here." I slowly lowered my hands to my sides. My erection was long gone, and with the air conditioning blasting, my penis had shrunk to a thoroughly unimpressive size, the head glistening with an embarrassing sheen of pre-cum.

"Ladies, feel free to have a seat," Dave said, indicating the couch and chairs in the sitting area. The blonde and the black girl sat on the couch. The brunette opted for one of the swivel chairs. Dave stood at the opposite end of the wide, square, leather ottoman.

"Well, Shawn, you have an audience. Why don't you show them what you can do. Come on over here and get on your knees." My feet felt like they were made of lead. All of the girls' eyes were locked on me as I slowly walked across the room to Dave. The blonde sipped her drink through a straw, smirking. The black girl looked provisionally disgusted. The brunette had a vaguely distracted expression of contemplation, like she was calculating something. When I reached Dave and faced him, the girls on the couch were immediately to my right, and the brunette in the chair was on the adjacent side of the ottoman. I dropped to my knees, my eyes cast downward.

"Take my pants off," Dave ordered. I reached forward and unbuttoned his pants, tugged them down past his hips and slid them to the carpet. His cock sprung out, swollen — somehow — with the first hint of arousal. I heard gasps.

"Damn," the black girl muttered, taking in the sight of Dave's huge member. Dave swept the pants aside with a foot and set his legs apart.

"What are you waiting for, Shawn? Show these ladies what a fine little cocksucker you are," he said.

"Yeah," echoed the blonde with an enthusiastic laugh, "suck his cock, slut." I bristled. It was bad enough they were going to watch, but now I had to be verbally abused by these spoiled bitches? Yes, apparently I did.

I leaned forward, inhaled, and took the head of Dave's cock in my mouth. Falling easily back into my programming, I looked him in the eye as I started to work my tongue around his head and shaft, slowly pulling his length back inside. He smiled down at me with apparent affection.

"That's it, Shawn. Get me nice and hard," Dave said pleasantly. "So, ladies," he directed his attention to our guests as I got to work. "Let me fill you in a little on what we have going on. Shawn here is a married 'heterosexual' guy." He made air-quotes as he said it. "He tells me he's just a regular dude who loves the ladies, but every once in awhile he has this 'itch' he's got to scratch by getting his mouth and ass jammed full of cock."

One of the girls snorted. I didn't register which one, as I had my head tilted the other way, licking the length of Dave's shaft and ticking the underside of his head with my tongue.

"Now, if you ask me," Dave continued cheerfully, "this is his true self. I mean, I don't care how many women he's been with or how much he loves his wife. You're either a cock-worshipping bitch or you're not. And, well, I think the evidence speaks for itself." More mocking laughter from the audience.

I took him back into my mouth and leaned forward, letting his meat slide through to my tonsils. I could feel his tool starting to expand, and I pressed ahead, letting his mushroom open my throat. I pulled back slowly, and then pushed ahead once again, taking it deeper. Dragging my tongue along his shaft. Feeling it grow with each stroke.

"Shawn, show these young ladies how good you are at deep-throating," Dave suggested. I inhaled and drove my face toward his groin, feeling his now-almost-fully-erect cock drive down into the bottom of my throat. I held it there for a second, then came up, breathing heavily through my nose.

"Wow," said one of the girls — the blonde. "That's pretty impressive. I don't think I could do that."

"Of course you could, Darling" answered the perfect brunette in an aristocratic English lilt, "you've had quite enough practice."

"Shut up!"

I only half-registered their taunts as I concentrated on swallowing Dave's cock again, taking him all the way in, lips stretched around his base. I had a trickle of drool running down my chin. Dave smiled at me. A knowing smile. A predatory smile. Up and down. Back and forth. Silently willing my gag reflex to relax. Faster, then. Like a good little slut. Pleasuring the big, strong man in front of an audience of sexy, nubile young women who would never have any use for a submissive faggot like me. The thought stung as it took hold in my mind.

"Okay, Shawn, I think we're in business. You can stop now," Dave said. I let his rock-hard pole slide out of my mouth and stretched my aching jaw, panting. I let out a short cough, clearing the saliva that he had plunged into my airway. His cock hovered in front of my eyes, its fully extended nine inches quivering upward at a forty-five degree angle.

"It's time, Shawn. You wanted cock, and now I'm going to give it to you nice and hard. Get up on that ottoman on all fours."

I stood up. My knees were weak, and my hands were trembling. I was about to present myself to him. I was going to do it in front of three beautiful women. I was the whore in a Tijuana donkey show. What the fuck was I doing? How did I get to this point?

I stepped toward the ottoman, avoiding eye contact with the girls. Trying to pretend they weren't there. Instead I watched Dave as he sauntered over to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube. Then he strode back, his tool bobbing menacingly. It occurred to me that he didn't have a condom with him — and I had plenty in the bathroom.

"Dave . . ." I started, weakly, still standing next to the ottoman. His eyebrows went up in surprise, as though my speaking without permission violated some law of nature.

"What can you possibly have to say right now," he interjected smoothly, "other than, 'Please, Sir, can I have some dick?'" The girls all laughed. I went flush.

"It's . . . I . . . ." I struggled to assert myself. "I can go get you a condom," I finally managed, hoping the idea sounded subservient enough phrased that way not to be taken as a challenge to his authority.

"What for," Dave responded casually, as he flipped open the lube and poured some into his hand. He continued walking towards me. "I mean, we established right up front that neither one of us has any diseases." He looked sharply at me then. "You didn't lie to me about that did you?" I shook my head violently. "Good. That's settled then. And I doubt you're worried about getting pregnant, so there's no need for a condom to get between us."

He started to stroke his ramrod shaft with the lube. I needed to draw a line there. It was one thing to let him order me around and make me do things that were uncomfortable or embarrassing. But this was a serious risk. I had no way of confirming that he was telling the truth about not having any STDs.

"I told you to get on the fucking ottoman," Dave barked. I shook. My defiance evaporated. In that moment — I can't explain why — I needed to know what his cock would feel like inside me more than I needed to safeguard my long-term health. I bent over and crawled onto the wide, leather piece — essentially a cushioned coffee table-top — my hands and knees sinking gently into the upholstery as it took my weight. Dave walked around behind me, out of my view.

To my right, the blonde and her tall ebony friend leaned back into the couch. The blonde appeared to be watching Dave behind me. The black girl regarded me, head slightly tilted, as one would a carnival curiosity. And directly in front of me, the brunette sat imperiously in her swivel chair, long, bare legs crossed, her hands cradling her drink in her lap just above the outrageously short hem of her skin-tight black dress. I made the mistake of glancing up at her eyes, and she peered savagely back into mine. Her face was a mask of gorgeous, icy, porcelain cruelty. Like a young Kate Beckinsale constructed of pure evil. I hastily looked down and tried to lose myself in the brass rivets that dotted the leather of my pedestal.

I felt Dave grab my ankles — I gasped in surprise — and he pulled my legs backwards until my knees were sitting on the very edge and my feet stuck out into open space. I walked my hands closer until my back was level, but Dave grabbed me by the hair on the back of my head and pushed it down, forcing me let my hands slip forward and catch my weight on my elbows.

"Spread your legs, Slut," Dave ordered. I gulped, breathing unevenly, and shifted my knees apart, opening myself up, presenting myself to him. Like a bitch in heat. I was terrified, my breaths short and shallow. So it was going to happen, then. Dave was going to fuck me, and it was going to hurt like hell, and these girls were going to watch me get used like a cheap fuck toy.

I felt the head of his cock press against my hole. I closed my eyes, clenched my fingers. The pressure increased, and my tight ring began to yield to him, just barely. It stretched as he slowly, slowly pressed forward. Just a fraction of an inch at a time. Wider still. In no time, my asshole was stretched to its absolute maximum, pulled completely taut, and he didn't even feel close to being inside me yet. His head was so much wider than two fingers. Panic began to rise in my chest.

He kept the pressure up; there was no relief. He pushed again, and sharp pain ripped through me as he stretched my hole open farther — too far. I grimaced, whimpered, my head down, hoping he wasn't about to tear something, expecting he was.

"I can't . . . I can't," I groaned.

"You fucking can, and you fucking WILL," Dave grunted back. And as he uttered, "WILL," he thrust violently forward and shoved the rest of his cock helmet through my overstretched ring, momentarily hyperextending it to a width it had never known. Muscle fibers angrily revolted. White-hot agony seared through me. He had torn me, I was sure of it. I actually saw the pain as I felt it, an exquisite flash like seeing a bolt of lightning but knowing the thunder is only seconds away.

I screamed. Oh, how I screamed. Tears welled up in my eyes and began to roll down my face. My fingers dug into the leather. My asshole clenched and unclenched involuntarily around the shaft that now held it pried open. Guttural sounds escaped my mouth as I took ragged breaths between my cries.

"I guess maybe we should have kept the music on after all," the blonde quipped. Her companion on the couch snorted.

My head jerked back, and for a fraction of a second I beheld the brunette. She had uncrossed her legs and was learning forward, flush with . . . arousal? Was she really into watching guys have sex? No, that wasn't right. It was . . . holy fuck, she was a sadist. That cunt was getting turned on by my suffering. I closed my eyes again and focused on the pain that was only just starting to dial itself down toward becoming a deep ache.

"See," I heard Dave say from behind me, "that wasn't so bad. Now you just have to take the rest of it."

Dave gripped my hips with his massive hands and started to pull me toward him as he gradually pushed his cock into me. One inch. Two. Three. I winced, my poor asshole raw and defenseless. Then he retreated until his cock head was tugging at the inside of my battered ring. Then once again, deeper inside me, stretching my tunnel as it went. Then back. Methodically. Inexorably. Each measured stroke penetrating me fractionally deeper than the last. I began to gain control of my breathing. My asshole began to adjust to his constant presence.

Again and again, he thrust himself into me, deeper and deeper still. Another inch. And another. His tool exploring, claiming the most intimate, private places within me. Each stroke bringing more and more of the cone-like girth of his shaft to bear on my shredded opening, forcing it wider, spreading it thinner. Deeper. And then faster. It felt like he was filling me completely. Like his cock was wearing me.

And then he pushed farther yet and I felt the head of his cock rub against something way up inside me. My prostate? It was like electricity. A frisson of pleasure coursed through me. Oh my. I felt my own cock twinge.

Dave propelled himself into me faster now. Hammering that pleasure spot. I moaned with the rhythm of his strokes. His balls slapping mine. He still wasn't giving me his entire length, but I doubted he could have. He was hitting a wall inside me with every thrust, battering my sensitive interior flesh. I closed my eyes, exulting in the sensation of being fucked, being used. I was a hot little hole and this giant was taking his pleasure from it.

All the way up inside, and back again. In and out. The inward thrusts building pressure within my depths, the outward strokes creating a vacuum that pulled at my delicate interior membrane. All the way in. And back again. Moist sucking sounds obscenely filling the room and announcing the punishing forces being brought to bear on my rectum.

"Holy shit," I heard the blonde say, awed by the spectacle. "You're fucking destroying his asshole!" In my newfound pleasure, I'd momentarily managed to forget I was the entertainment. The blonde's observation ripped me back to my surroundings. I was being fucked like a whore and moaning like one, too. And I was a disgusting sideshow to these girls. A circus freak to be gawked at before they left and went to be in the company of real men.

Again and again Dave pounded me, my whole body rocking back and forth with the onslaught. Pleasure and shame rushing through me in equal measures. The lubricant magnified the obscene squishing sounds of my impalement. His shaft rubbing against the sensitive lining of my cavity, tugging it on each backstroke and making me feel like I was being turned inside out. Harder. Faster.

"Look at me, you pathetic fuck," the brunette's accented voice startled and taunted me. I raised my head and was completely unprepared to see her leaning back into the swivel chair, her stiletto heels spread shoulder-width apart, dug into the edge of the ottoman. Her dress was hiked up just below her waist. She wasn't wearing panties, and I had a direct, unfettered view of her absolutely pristine, immaculately shaved pussy. My heart skipped a beat. I'd never beheld a sight quite like that impossibly beautiful young woman displaying her sex to me from less than ten feet away.

And as I beheld that incredible vision, a massive cock — a real man's cock — continued to savage me from behind.

"Do you like what you see," she purred softly. "Do you like my pretty little pussy?" She reached gently between her legs and slid a perfectly manicured nail up along her slit. "Ooh," she cooed, "It's so tiny and tight and sweet and sensitive." She gasped dramatically as she lightly traced her button, her eyes widening, a wicked smile creeping onto her face.

"Mmmm, my little pussy was just made for pleasure," she went on, seductively. "Do you wonder what it tastes like? Can you smell my scent from there? Would you enjoy slipping your tongue inside me and hearing me sigh with delight? Do you fancy you might you suck on my tiny clitty and make me melt with ecstasy?"

My asshole stretched and contracted. Stretched and contracted with the girth of Dave's shaft, my hole absorbing impact after impact as my eyes and ears and some part of my soul absorbed the raw heat of what was happening in front of me.

"Can you imagine how it would feel to slide your cock up inside my tight, wet hole and fuck this firm little body of mine," she went on. Her hips rolled lewdly in the chair as she touched herself. Her other hand stroked the inside of her thigh as she continued to display herself, spreading her labia apart just slightly to give me a glimpse of the moist, pink treasure inside. Slipping a fingertip into herself. Raising it to her lips to taste the drop of moisture. I was mesmerized.

Dave shifted his weight slightly, and I felt his cock attack me from a different angle, abusing my tube, pummeling the flesh inside, thrumming the sensitive spot hard-wired to the pleasure center of my brain. He grunted with exertion, but never slowed, never took a break. He just continued to pump himself in and out, in and out, his cock hammering away at me, stretching me, using me, sawing at my ring. His sweat dripped onto my back. I felt my own cock hardening, the constant stimulation of my prostate and the cruel teasing of the young goddess in front of me beginning to overwhelm my senses.

"But you can't, of course," the brunette went on, affecting a mock pout. "I mean, I would only let a real man fuck my pussy." My gut churned with humiliation even as my arousal grew. "I need a real man to hold me down and fuck this delicious little cunt of mine. To make me writhe and moan and claw at his back while he takes me." She exhaled a dramatic sigh.

Dave's piston slammed home again, and again, and again, loud and wet. Each time sending a wave of pleasure through my core.

"A real man to stretch me open with his massive cock," she continued breathily, "and pound me deep inside." My breath quickened, my dick was stiff and swinging wildly with every blow from Dave's tool. I felt the beginnings of a climax starting to form. My mouth was dry and hanging open. I was transfixed.

"A real man to make me cry out in ecstasy as he shoots his hot seed into me," she went on, peering into my eyes. "But YOU'RE not a real man. You could never hope to please me." Her face twisted into a bitter scowl; mine went crimson. Pressure mounted in my groin. Dave's cock rammed me, owned me, filled me.

"You're just a ridiculous little nothing," her voice rose, filling with contempt as she closed her legs, shutting herself away from me. "You play at being a man, and yet here you are displaying yourself like a harlot and getting taken in the arse by another man — a real man." I was panting now, overcome with lust and shame, feeling my anal cavity swell and stretch over and over, the pounding on my prostate sending me past the point of no return. Close, so close.

"You are a pathetic, cock-hungry little slut," she practically shouted now. "If your wife knew what you really are, she would leave you." Anguish, revulsion, exhilaration. "You're fit for nothing but to be pumped full of other men's cum, at their pleasure, and then laughed at and discarded. You are a Useless. Filthy. Cum-sucking. Faggot!"

In an instant, my asshole clenched around Dave's shaft, my gut contracted, and my body jolted with a powerful eruption. Cum sprayed from my cock as it swung wildly, both from my orgasm and from Dave's fucking. Every cord of muscle in my body went tense as my balls emptied themselves into the air beneath me. Twitching. Twitching. Slowing but still twitching. I shuddered and let out a clattering moan. I hadn't even touched myself.