Searching for It

He looked around to make sure those three black guys weren't still hanging around and then turned the corner and stood facing a wall beside a parked black van. He unzipped and pulled his dick out of the pouch of the jock strap and, leaning into the wall supported by the heel of the other hand of an outstretched arm, and pissed a strong-arced stream of piss against the cinder brick wall.

God, that felt good, he thought, as he shook the dick dry.

He didn't even have time to cry out as a hood was forced over his head and he was slung sideways through a van door and onto a carpeted floor. His wrists were being cuffed and his arms were being pulled over his head and attached to something. He heard the van door slide shut with a solid thump. The cargo shorts and then the jock strap were jerked down his legs, which were wishboned and raised, with strong fists grabbing his ankles.

He cried out inside the hood and arched his back, as a cock slid into Ethan's channel—with difficulty as it was thicker than the forties man's had been—but yieldingly as Ethan was lubed and opened up by the two recent fucks.

The man was breathing heavily and muttering something Ethan couldn't make out from inside his hood. Was he talking to someone. Were there others there? The three black guys?

But the cock was thick and long and was pumping him even better than the forties guy did. And longer. Almost interminably. Hands were moving up his torso, grabbing his pecs under the cut-off T, digging into his nipples, punishing him. Ethan cried out under the hood and his hips went into motion. This was a fuck! He was meeting the cock thrust for thrust, and he could feel the vehicle they were in rocking back and forth. The man's torso lowered to his. It was brushing up and down on Ethan's chest in rhythm with the thrusts of the man's cock.

Hairy. The chest was hairy. Chaffing Ethan's chest, but he didn't care. Bulging muscles. The man was strong. And vigorous. And long lasting. Or was it just the one. He would pull out and then thrust in again. Was that someone else taking over?

Ethan shot his load and soon after, with a couple of jerks and a grunt and groan, the man's body tensed and he too came. Ethan felt no flow inside, so he must have been capped. It was almost a disappointment. Ethan wanted to feel the creaming of his insides. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe it meant Ethan wasn't in mortal danger. Or maybe the man was just protecting himself.

He was left there, where he lay, his wrists bound above his head, a hood covering his head, when he heard the van door slide open and then close, another door open and close, and then the van was on the move.

* * * *

Ethan decided they must be in a bathroom. his knees, painfully were on a hard, tiled floor. His belly was on the cold rim of a porcelain tub, and his arms were dangling in the tub, still bound at the wrists.

A man was hunched over him from behind and fucking him. It was a glorious fuck. If the floor and porcelain weren't so hard and cold, it would be an even better fuck. The hood was jerked off his head—and, sure enough, he was draped over the rim of a bathtub in a small and barely functional bathroom—and he gasped for air.

"Please," he pleaded when he could get his breath. "my knees. My belly. It's killing me. Please can we do this another way."

"But you want it, don't you?" The voice was muffled. Ethan managed to turn his head enough to get the impression, his eyes following the line of bulging muscles of an arm, of a massive, heavily muscled, and quite hairy—dark hair—chest. And a head covered by a hood. The man was tanned, but either white or Hispanic.

"Yes," he conceded. "I want it. But could we . . .?"

The man laughed, that too muffled, but he pulled Ethan up and backed him the few feet it took to get to the opposite side of the room. He sat on the toilet and then brought Ethan down on his lap and onto his cock and resumed the stroking by lifting Ethan up and down on the cock. Ethan didn't fight it. He placed the balls of his now-naked feet on the tiled floor and helped with the rhythm of being raised and lowered on the cock.

His eyes free to see now, Ethan looked around. The bathroom was clean and neat—just small and old-looking. The man's thighs between his spread legs were tan and hairy. Black hair. The man had forced Ethan's arms up with Ethan's bound wrists locked behind the man's neck, which made Ethan arch his back, putting his torso in the form of a taut bow. When the man stopped raising Ethan up and down on his waist and had felt that Ethan was willingly doing that himself by the leverage of the balls of his feet, the man's hands had gone to covering Ethan's pecs again and playing with his nipples. When he did that Ethan saw, for the first time, the tattoo on the man's wrist. He couldn't quite make out what it was, but he was working on it.

That was forced out of Ethan's mind, though, when the man raised his feet, massive, hairy-toed boats, to where his heels were on the rim of the tub across the room, This forced Ethan's shoulder blades back onto the bulging, hairy pecs of the man and lifted his feet off the floor. At this angle, the man's thrusts up into Ethan's channel, using the leverage of the man's heels on the tub rim, sent the cock ever deeper and Ethan was panting and groaning and moaning. And luxuriating in the exhausting fuck.

Ethan was totally exhausted after the fuck, but the man seemed as vigorous and hyper as ever. He stood up from the toilet and moved Ethan to where he was draped over his arms in front of him, Ethan laid across his arms, dangling like a rag doll, still panting softly from the total fuck, and looked up at the massive hairy chest and the bulging arm muscles. Ethan had never been taken by such a strong, beautifully built man as this before.

He was carefully carried into another room and laid on some sort of medical table. The man unbound his wrists but immediately bound them in cuffs on the edge of the padded table parallel to his shoulders. Ethan's feet were bound in stirrups that raised and spread them. His buttocks was raised by a wedge at the bottom end of the table.

Still wearing the hood and nothing else, the man then rolled a table up to below and somewhat beside the table. Ethan's eyes went from the massive tube of now-flaccid manhood dangling between the man's beefy thighs and to his right wrist, where Ethan could see the tattoo again, but still could not make out what it was. But his eyes also went back to the barrel chest, with the matting of black, curly hair, cascading down to his pubes—and to the pronounced curves and bulges of all of the muscles and the armor-like plate of his six pack. Now that he could see the man's body completely, the line between the tan and that of the Speedo he must have been wearing when he was getting his tans revealed that he was a white man.

Ethan wished he could be free to let his hands roam on that body, to follow the tan line with his fingers, to taste that cock and watch it engorge, and to pull it inside him and ride it like a cowboy. And maybe after this . . .

But, what was that? What was the man doing? He had picked something up from the surface of the table he had rolled over. A long, thin, metal wand.

"Do you know what this is?" the voice, muffled by the hood, asked.

"No," Ethan murmured.

"It's called a wand. Do you know where it goes?"

"No."

"Think about that." The man had cupped Ethan's cock and raised it. The tip of the want was lowered toward the tip of the cock. "Where could it go?"

"No. Noooo. Please no!" Ethan cried out.

"Ah, you've guessed it. Now you must hold very still. I tell you this for your own good."

"Noooo!"

The man slapped Ethan on the belly, and said in a more forceful voice. "I said you must hold still. You will thank me for warning you of that."

"Please don't," Ethan said with a whine. "Don't do this. Please. Why are you . . .? Oh, shit. Nooo!"

He could feel the cold steel slowly enter his piss slit. Just a little way. Enough for him to realize that this was going to happen. He gasped and then whimpered, "Why?"

"I have enjoyed fucking you. I can tell you have enjoyed it too. We are going to be friends. Very intimate friends. And I am going to teach you control. Ultimate control. I liked the look of you from the very beginning. And dark hair. That five o'clock shadow. It completes the package. We'll have to keep that."

Ethan had been concentrating on trying to understand what the man was saying through the hood. If he hadn't been, he would have realized that the thin metal wand was nearly half buried inside him. He was trembling, but as warned, he was trying to remain as still as he could.

He gasped and moaned as the wand was slowly pulled out of his penis. He was going hard in spite of the horror of what was happening.

He looked down the line of his body and saw the man picking up a thicker wand. "Please . . . oh my god," he whimpered as the thicker rod entered his slit and slowly was pushed in.

"Just to this point and then just watch what happens," the man said. "You want it. You'll see."

Ethan looked down as the wand half buried in his raised penis. The man didn't have a hand on it, and yet it was moving. It was sinking into him. And he could feel it sinking in.

"See. Your cock wants it. It's taking it in on its own." Then the gasping and the sucking in of air as the wand was pulled out.

As the man was turned to the table, selecting a thicker wand, Ethan could see that the man was aroused by this. His cock, huge and curved up toward his belly, was hard again.

With the fourth wand buried three-quarters of the way inside Ethan's penis, the man pushed the stirrups Ethan's feet were tied to toward the base of the table so that Ethan's legs were bent. Ethan watched him roll a condom on his cock. Then he placed his hands on Ethan's knees and moved in between Ethan's thighs and entered his channel with his cock.

Ethan sighed and moaned as the man slow-pumped him. The young sailor almost forgot that over four inches of a thick wand were buried in his penis. The man moved Ethan's knees back and forth with the rhythm of his stroking and Ethan became lost in the fuck. He was close to coming, when the man stopped and pulled his cock out. He stood there, holding Ethan's knees still, while Ethan's breathing slowly returned to normal and he lost the urge to ejaculate.

Then the man said, "Ultimate control," and Ethan watched in fear, renewed horror, and fascination as the man brought his cock head up to the exposed tip of the wand. He squeezed the head of his cock and the piss slit opened right up and then he swallowed two inches of the wand in the cock. One end of the wand was in Ethan's cock and the other end in the man's.

"The ultimate fuck," the man said. "You are mine now . . . unless . . ." One of his hands enveloped Ethan's balls and pulled and released them as more of his cock swallowed the end of the wand and the two cock heads came close together. The hand left Ethan's balls and moved down. Fingers entered Ethan's ass and worked their way in and out, stretching for the prostate.

Ethan arched his back and turned his head to the side and moaned deeply. The man started to move his penis, moving the metal wand back and forth in both Ethan's penis and his own, bringing the cock heads closer together.

"Oh shit yes. Oh fuck. Oh god, yes. Yesss," Ethan moaned.

"Do you want me to stop? To free you? To send you back to that yacht of yours?"

"Oh god no. Fuck me. Fuck me like this forever. Oh, shit . . . I'm going to come."

"Go ahead."

And Ethan did come, and so did the man, obviously having been able to hold himself for a mutual ejaculation, the cum of the two burbling out around the sides of the wand and lathering each other's cock bulbs.

The man leaned over Ethan and released his cuffed wrists. Ethan's hands immediately buried themselves in the silky chest hair of the man's pecs, hungrily seeking the man's taut nipples. The man pulled the hood off his head.

It was the bald-headed man who piss-slit fucked him with the bead of his ring in Joey's bar. It hit Ethan then that he should know this. The man had alluded to a different, more intense piss slit fuck that he'd given with the bead on the ring, and just now he'd revealed that he knew Ethan sailed on a yacht.

"Do you want to go home or do you want it again?"

"Again. And again and again. Oh fuck yes!"

The man had begun to move his hips again, moving the wand connecting their penises back and forth inside them. "I'm ready if you are. But do you want to try a thicker wand?"

"Whatever you want," Ethan murmured between gasps and heavy pants, his hands greedily tugging at the man's nipples. "You are in control."

"Good answer. I knew you could accept that," the man said as he raised off of Ethan and moved his hand over to select a thicker wand.

Later, the man carried a totally spent Ethan down and hall and into a bedroom with four twin beds against the walls. A young blond man was on one of the beds. He was naked and his body was beautiful—slender but well-muscled. He had been reading a skin magazine, but he looked up, eyes flashing, as the man carried Ethan in.

"This here, the blondie, is Mark. Mark meet Ethan. He's going to be the dark headed one."

Without acknowledging Ethan, the blond turned his eyes on the man and raised up on his knees in a provocative pose. "You going to do me again now, Seth? Sound and fuck me again. I need you. I need you bad. I need the wand. The cock fuck. Please, are you—"

"Yes, Mark, I'm going to do you now." The man—who had now been named Seth—walked over and picked the blond up in his arms. "Bathroom's through there, and the kitchen is down the hall, darkie. Make yourself to home."

Ethan laid back on the bed he'd been placed on after picking up the magazine the blond guy had been reading. His eyes roamed the bodies and sexual positions of the guys on the glossy cover without seeing them as he heard the cries of passion from the blond in the room down the hall—wishing all of the time that it was him again. Not wondering where he was, how long this would last, or how he was going to get back to the yacht he should be sailing on to Bermuda in a couple of days. Only thinking of that steel rod joining his cock to that of the big, ugly, magnificent bruiser Seth and living variously what the mouthy blond in the other room was screaming was happening to him.

* * * *

When Corbin came out of the back room at Joey's after being fucked by the handsome forties guy with the open wallet, he realized that this was the bar he'd been looking for. He had been three sheets to the wind when he'd left the bar that night and had been pulled into the alley and into that van and fucked like he'd never been fucked before in his life.

He'd never even heard about sounding before. After the hooded guy had done him and then sounded him and then pushed him out of the van and driven off, Corbin had gone home and researched it. It had taken him quite a bit of research to find that ultimate fuck—what the hooded man had called the "ultimate control"—but he'd found it eventually. The two-cocked sounding, with the dominate guy controlling the action of the mutual penis fuck. Nothing had been said about coming at the same time and slathering each other's dicks, but Corbin just couldn't get that out of his mind.

The man had been hooded. And so had Corbin been hooded. But Corbin's had come off during the fuck and he'd seen it—the tattoo on the guy's wrist. It was only after it was all over—the next day, in fact—that Corbin had realized that the tattoo depicted exactly what he now craved again. Two penises, their heads connected with a thick rod.

Corbin had to have it again. And again and again and again. He wouldn't recognize the guy by his face, but there couldn't be more than one tattoo like that on a man of magnificent, hairy build cruising the Christopher Street bars. It was just a matter of time and research.

Corbin bellied up to the bar and ordered a beer. Then he turned and surveyed the dimly lit room, with the colored beams of light roaming around. A yellow light highlighted the man at the table. It was only for an instant. But it was enough. He'd had his hand raised, and Corbin had seen the tattoo. Just in a flash, but enough.

They were at one of the tables. The big man had a younger, slender man, in his lap. A redhead, with freckles. But good looking and built nicely. The man was ugly as sin, but that didn't matter. That wasn't what Corbin wanted from the man. The redhead was being held tightly in the big man's lap and there was movement at their hips. The back of the redhead's head was pushed into the hollow of the big man's shoulder, black hair curling out of the neckline of the big man's T-shirt, and the younger man had the look of being in dreamland on his face. A pair of shorts and bikini briefs were laying at the feet of the redhead.

It was clear that the big man was lap fucking him. It was also clear to Corbin from memory, that, although the redhead's shirt was covering his lap, the position of one of the big bruiser's hands underneath the front of the shirt told Corbin that the bead on the underside of the man's ring was busy fucking the piss slit of the redhead's penis. And the redhead was loving it, without having any knowledge just how far that could be carried.

Corbin didn't want to watch this, but he didn't want to leave either. He'd wait until it was done and then he'd follow the big guy—at least get the license plate of his van. The redhead thought he was in heaven now, but if the big bruiser gave him the sounding treatment he'd been in higher glory yet. Corbin was already shaking in anticipation of getting it again.

But Corbin was not destined to be satisfied by the ultimate fuck again. Corbin was a blond. The big bruiser, Seth, already had a blond in his collection. Corbin was fine for a fuck and a sounding in the back of the van, but Corbin wasn't going to experience the ultimate—again and again—as he dreamed of.

Tonight, big Seth was shopping for a redhead for his collection.