Whores Make Great Wives Pt. 06

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Meat packer's BDSM ball & sex with Forbes and Liz Taylor.
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Part 6 of the 6 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 10/27/2017
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erectus123
erectus123
463 Followers

MEAT PACKER'S BDSM BALL & CELEBRITY SEX WITH FORBES AND LIZ TAYLOR

{The teller of this tale, Gaspardo Del Tornet, talks of his life experiences. Gaspardo is a French citizen born in Aix-en-Provence of a father who was very strict, being a Sergeant in the French military and born of a French Moroccan mother, who was a baker, specializing in chocolate filled beignets. Gaspardo is now 94 years old and has continued to recounted his life's adventures as herein dictated to the writer known as Erectus. The interview starts with Gaspardo speaking.}

INTRODUCTION

My first wife Jean, God rest her soul, was, and I'm not ashamed to say it, she was a French Street whore. At the worst she may have been the most common of a common street whore who plied her trade among common men. For every man who has a cock, there comes a time when he has need to find a willing chamber in which he can discharge those poisons that the almighty has insinuated in the very spleen of mankind. Above all, my dear wife, Jean De Tormet was a fine person who was not only honest but treated people in the most Christian manner, and God knows, she alleviated the poisons in many a man's spleen.

Jean used to work the streets back in the 1960s, that surround the huge Flea Market in Paris, which is still found there on the Rue des Rosiers. Famous the world over for its fine antiques and unique offerings, many of the peddlers and antique dealers who displayed there were her regular customers, and many tourists found her beauty, charms and professional skills most irresistible.

In her day she was one of the most beautiful whores to work the streets. She no doubt would have earned more in a bordello but she didn't want to work under a pimp or boss, both figuratively or literally. She loved her freedom and always remained independent. Of course, she always dyed her brown hair to a honey blonde, she had big natural breasts with full perky nipples, probably bigger than the ever popular Bardot but with a narrow waist just like Brigitte who she resembled. In the evening she was often mistaken for the starlet, which is ridiculous, what would Bardot be doing whoring on the street under a night lamp? But men live in a fantasy world and Jean had every right to take advantage of their sexual stupidity. But the truth was she was a near look alike, it was uncanny, I must say that whenever we went places together, people would point and often come up to us to ask for her autograph.

Jean was extremely intelligent, she spoke a little of several languages. When approached by foreigners she could get by in sex banter with the Chinese in Mandarin, with Indians in Urdu and with the blackest of Africans in Swahili, she could even trade Brooklyn slang with the Yanks and if she could not communicate with words, she would use sign language. And for those clients who preferred quiet, her face could communicate all the necessary emotions while her mouth did all the work or the preparation for what comes next.

FRENCH WHORES MAKE THE BEST WIVES PT. 6

There were only a few days left before we were about to fly back to Paris on the Concord, in fact we'd begun to pack our suitcases, when we were surprised by an invitation pushed under the door from one of our "neighbors" on Park Avenue. We were invited to attend a private masquerade party held by "MF". We weren't quite sure who "MF" was but we assumed we had met him or her at one time or another. It turned out to be an extra surprise we had not counted on.

The theme of the party was "The Meat Packer's Ball" and the host had rented the famous "Meat Packing District's " most renown BDMS gay club. The instructions on the invitation were that the women were to dress as gay men and the men were to dress as drag queens. In addition to the party goers, some twenty-five gay men who frequent the club were invited in to add the flavor of reality.

The night was cool and foggy, you could smell the river nearby and the garbage that the district still produced and it was hours before the pickup time.The name of the club was The Mineshaft. It was a members-only BDSM gay bar and sex club located at 835 Washington Street, at little west of 12th Street, in Manhattan, New York City. This was in the famous Meatpacking District which originally was the center for meat delivery, sale and butchering. We had not realized we were headed to a BDSM club. We were hoping it was a sort of 'Studio 54' with disco dancing.

I was wearing a dark curly wig that Jean said went well with my complexion and perennial 5 o'clock shadow. I had some oversized short drop cloth of a dress with leopard spots and a large baggy hat that when seated on my head reminded me of foreskin. I really could not wear the high heels so I tied the straps together and slung them on my shoulder and wore men's dress shoes. Sometime one has to compromise.

When we entered the club, there were a bunch of regulars milling around. It was hard to step through the crowd. When the gay guys got a load of me, someone shouted out,

"Hey, it's Fred Flintstone."

I was somewhat embarrassed but in my heart I knew he was right and it was all meant in fun. Then the same guy bent over and flashed his raw butt at me shouting,

"You can have my ass any time, Freddy."

I thanked him as we passed by and smacked his ass. I have to admit it was a perfect bubble butt.

"You turn me on Freddy!" he shouted after me.

We waved our engraved invitations at the burly black guard . Since we were invited guests, he parted the crowd like Moses parting the Dead Sea. He let us enter, closing the door quickly to keep out the uninvited. He leaned over Jean, ogling her tits that were hardly hidden by her tuxedo jacket. Then he reached out and pinched Jean quite cruddy on her left tit and whispered something else, I only caught the part of when he said he'd be in to see her later. We didn't pay much attention, men frequently make passes at her. She rubbed her nipple for a while to get rid of the sting.

Once we were inside, the air was warm and damp with perfume and perspiration. Whiskey and champagne were being served by naked gay boys in slave costumes with chains. The crowd was all drinking and dancing and then four guys charged into the room, grabbed Jean from out of my arms and rushed her to a stockade that stood at the center of the room. I strenuously objected, but two of them dragged me to a cell near the stockade and threw me in, hitting my head on the bars and chaining the cell door. I could not believe what happened next.

The huge black doorman appeared but now he was draped in a silver cape and a top hat which was pierced by two long curved red devil horns. He approached Jean from the rear, and ripped of the bottom of her costume and then came around front and tore off her jacket and then ripped open her low cut blouse so her bare breasts were now fully revealed. The audience quickly quieted assuming this pornographic exhibition was part of the entertainment.

Without even explaining himself, the "Devil man" tore off a silver cod piece from his tights that fully exposed his large cock and balls. Without a moment of hesitation, he thrust his huge curved cock between her legs. I was relieved when I saw he had not penetrated her, but my relief did not last, he was simply measuring the arc necessary to stuff himself fully into her rectum. She let out a scream as he jammed himself inside of her anus and then just as quickly he pulled out, whispered something in her ear and reached around the front of her and positioned he curved hook of a cock at her front, entered her vagina and began to saw himself inside of her to my chagrin. This procedure of in and out, of vaginal penetration switching to anal sex continued for what seemed like a long time, too long.

The "Devil" wore her down like a buzz saw cutting forest timber. Her arms grew slack in shackles of the stockade. When you could see he could no longer contain himself he pulled out of her ass and lifting her by her legs so her vagina was at the level of his prick, and once more jabbed that hook of a cock right into my beloved's vagina.

Then he pulled out and pointed his cock at her face. His cock, well primed at this point rained a deluge of sperm across her breast and face. He continued to circled her, his cock spurting like a fire hose, painting her back and buttocks with translucent white thick cum juice.

.

Then, as if to add fuel to the fire, three muscular dudes in jock straps, also wearing devil's horns came out and danced around Jean, lowered their jockstraps and jerked off their red painted cocks in harmony, spattering my dear wife with their love juice till she looked like a shimmering candle .

Finally, swaddling her in a transparent velum fabric, they unchained her from the post where she had suffered these terrible humiliations that I could not rescue her from but I was forced to watch her being raped while I remained jailed and in a rage. Once freed, she ran to me, flung open the cell door, that somehow was now unlocked and buried her face in my chest sobbing in excitement,

"They paid me very well to take part in the porno show," she blurted out. "There's enough to pay for our plane trip back first class and enough left over to make a visit to Louie Vuitton for a new purse and wallet."

Oh my Jean, always able to turn a sexual catastrophe into a financial windfall and any excuse to visit Vuitton's.

Finally, we had our moment of calm. The bus boys escorted us to a center table and we were served some green margaritas in those crazy large glasses filled with crushed ice. At last we were able to relax.

We remained seated enjoying the multi costumed guests. Since Jean's costume was in shambles, covered with sperm, they had already sent it out to be cleaned by an all night dry cleaning establishment. In recompense, they had given her a pair of sequin tights but she was still bare above the waist and I though quite attractive.

Then there was a large roar, almost like thunder, I thought it was probable some plane overhead or a large motor vehicle out on the street, but it was one of those big Harley motor bikes that are so American, and it wasn't just one but at least seven or eight. Then as the roar died down, and the double wide door to the street swung open, the misty cool night air came in dragging the cigarette and weed smoke right up to our table, the announcer said,

"Let's all give a hand for Malcolm, Mr. Malcolm Forbes with his date for the night, the magnificent, the delectable actress of screen and stage, Miss Elizabeth Taylor."

Although we were French, we were also international, we certainly knew who Elizabeth Taylor was, but I wasn't too sure who Forbes was. I soon learned he was the owner of Forbes Magazine and one of the richest men in America and a Gay/Bi guy as well, although the public never knew it at the time. Later when he contracted HIV his sexual proclivities became a widely known scandal with much conjecture as to wether he had infected Taylor. This was long before Magic Johnson broke his news. At this time there was no cure but let's put that unpleasantness to rest.

Malcolm was surely the life of the party, and it was his private show. He was a very masculine looking man, beautiful in his own way, muscular for his age, grey haired and dressed in black motor bike regalia. When he spoke, his voice was gravely and decidedly macho. He entered the club like a king who had conquered a country, all eyes were upon him and his escort Elizabeth, wearing a golden gown that did little to hide her ample breasts with their tell tale beauty mark. That was when I realized that MF was Forbes, the Malcolm Forbes.

At that moment. two waiters came scurrying to our table and plunked down two large chairs and announced,

"Mr. Forbes and his guest will be seated here with you."

Jean looked up wide eyed and my jaw dropped. Our invitation must have come from Forbes himself. I had seen him a few times in the apartment building on 5th avenue without knowing who he was. We had exchanged pleasantries and I recalled Jean had conversed with him in French in the elevator one night and he had kissed her hand as we exited. It turned out that Forbes occupied the penthouse apartment on the very roof top, a forbidden zone I was told with lush gardens and outdoor furniture in wrought iron.

Forbes walked right up to our table, and said,

"Hello, my guests. I hope you are enjoying the night."

Up close he seemed bigger than before, as big as life, as if he was John Wayne without the Texas drawl. A dark curly haired woman, a bit worn for her age, and a bit fatter than one might have liked, followed him holding a champagne glass. She looked a bit tipsy and sat to my right and Malcolm pulled out the chair and sat right next to Jean. Next thing I noticed he was holding her left hand and then kissing it. What I didn't see, the table cloth hiding his action, but with the other hand he'd unzipped his fly and plopped his large cock right into her hand. She looked at me for approval but I wasn't aware of what was going on so I just smiled and rolled my eyes.

Jean was now in deep conversation with Forbes in French, but she never let on the she was a bit annoyed that he was so forward in front of me.

"Je vais te branler mais mon mari va te baiser dans le cul [I'll jerk you off Malcolm, but only if you let my husband fuck you in the ass.]"

She intuitively knew what turned him on. I would have never guessed that Malcolm's ass was as dear to him as his 'gros pénis juteux' ( his juicy fat cock). And it was unusual that I was called into her sex games, but she felt Forbes needed to be taught a lesson. However this was a lesson he really wanted.

"That will work," said Forbes in his low growl of a voice. He jumped up, pulled me out of my chair by my arm and he shouted to Elizabeth,"Come on babe, the fun is about to begin!"

The room was very noisy with the techno music and it was hard to hear what anyone was saying. We all left the ballroom and adjourned to a small room off to the side that was empty except for an office desk off to the side and a few chairs. Here we could hear each other speak and have the luxury of some privacy as well. Then I noticed that on the desk was a jar of Crisco. This was the commonly used lubrication for butt fucking in those days before high tech silicon gels were available.

Forbes immediately threw his black motorcycle jacket on the floor and shed his heavy trousers and posed in front of me wearing only his shirt grey flannel shirt. He seemed to be in a hurry, He grabbed the Crisco can and lost no time in lathering up his chalky white ass. I have to admit, he was more attractive before he dropped his pants. An ass that is fat, soft yet firm is ideal; his was fat but also a little boney, probably from all his motorcycling and that boney part hurts your hips when you thrust your cock hard into an ass, but I had little choice in what was coming down.

Jean started jerking his fat swollen red dick, while holding back his strangely ragged foreskin. Elizabeth just watched with a smirk. I dropped my pants and gave my cock a few twists, took a look at Jeans tits, and this was enough to get my dick hard. I sort of closed my eyes and filled my mind with that image and just began to shoved my cock into Malcolm's greased up ass.

He sighed as if in pain, but I soon realized it was a sigh of longing, a longing to be impaled. He recovered nicely as I rocked him with hard thrusts. He reached down and pulled his ass wider which made it easier for me to get my cock even further deeper inside.

As I'd had my daily fuck that morning with my dear wife, I was in no hurry to cum. Jean had now stopped jerking Malcolm's fat prick, and now that it was hard she was blowing him. In fact her hard sucking had teased a few teaspoons of cum out of his cock, which I credited to my hitting his prostate repeatedly and on purpose. As she licked him clean, I was just getting started.

"Don't stop, keep fucking me, harder please," ordered Mr. Malcolm.

So I kept ramming him as hard as I could. You could hear my thighs repeatedly slapping into his ass, almost in time with the thump of the techno base line.

It took me another four or five minutes to reach my point of no return and when that moment came, I grabbed his big derriere by his love handles and cranked a massive cum loan straight up his ass as my pubic bone took a hit from the boney part of Malcolm's ass.

"Parfois vous obtenez ce que vous souhaitez pour," I shouted as in triumph. "[Sometimes you get what you wish for.]"

He responded back, "Oui, je l'ai, merci mon ami [Yes, I have, thank you my friend]."

Forbes responded then with a strange giddy laugh, a sound that I still hear sometimes in the back recesses of my mind late at night, when there is no sound to be heard except perhaps the chirp of a cricket that somehow has insinuated himself in some dark corner, this time Forbes spoke in English,

"Ah my friend, you've made me cum, and that is a trick few have mastered."

As he spoke a new larger puddle of semen dribbled out his cock, running down his leg.

I expected Jean would have gobbled it up, but instead I realized she had abandoned my prey and had maneuvered Lizzie onto the desk.

I could hear Elizabeth say in a rather loud drunken voice,

"I like cock, but my favorite sex is mouth on pussy. Burton was the same way, he preferred a blow job and ass licking from my hairdresser George, to using his prick on me."

Now that Liz was getting her wish as well. I looked at Jean, who looked a little tired, but she stopped slurping Liz's vagina long enough to respond to Liz,

"Oui mon cher, quoi que tu désires, [Yes my dear, whatever you desire.]"

Then Jean turned to me, and wanted to say, as she told me latter,

"For the money this Malcolm gave to me I'd even lick her ass hole clean," but she thought it best to stay silent.

Elizabeth, who understood a bit of french chirped,

"Oui, ma chérie, la chatte est la chose. [Yes, darling, the pussy is the thing]. Please don't stop till I orgasm. Oh yes that is lovely."

So Jean knelt over Lizzie and did her best, Lizzie had a dry cunt but not for too long. Jean's salivary glands were fortunately up to the task.

Malcolm handed me "special Havana," and we lit up and I smoked while watching Jean going to town on Liz's twat. When Jean lifted her head a bit to take a quick breath I could see Liz's vagina, polished by so many famous actors and politicians. It was quit large, in fact her clit was as large as a small cock.

It took a while, but with tongue and fingers, Jean succeeded as the tipsy Elizabeth let out a passionate shout and squirted so high it seemed to almost bounce off the ceiling.

"That's my girl!" said Malcolm whose eyes lit up like a christmas tree.

It was then I realized the Havana cigar was laced with cocaine. As Elizabeth lay panting Malcolm pulled Jean back by her hair, parted Liz's vagina lips and pushed the end of the lit cigar he'd been sucking on, right into Lizzie's vagina,

"Careful Liz,you don't wanna burn your hot twat," he joked.

Liz when she looked down seeing the burning cigar in her cunt, her expression turned mad but then the cocaine must have entered her bloodstream via her vagina and she just laid back quietly, moaned and enjoyed the moment.

"Oh yes, sweet Malcolm, a perfect ending," she said quietly as her eyes closed.

I turned to Jean,

"Come my darling, let's leave them to their devices."

So Jean and I left, but first I paused to use a spare table cloth to wipe my dick clean,

"Malcolm's ass was ok but I wouldn't want to eat out of it," I commented.

I was still woozy from the cocaine cigar so Jean took me by my hand and we made it out to the cool fresh air of the harbor where my mind recovered a bit, and then the smell of refuse in plastic bags and overflowing cans really woke us up.

erectus123
erectus123
463 Followers
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