Club Doblar

I was panting and straining and Grady was whispering to me, "Stay with it; you can take it. You are taking it. Doesn't that make you want to shoot higher than ever before?"

He was crouched between my spread legs, holding one up and away from our bodies, my other leg running up his torso, the ankle hooked on his shoulder. His forehead was plastered to mine, his eyes looking intensely into mine. His dick was inside me, to the hilt, not plowing. Pulsing, throbbing. The head of the dildo in his free hand was pressing into the entrance of my hole, above his buried cock. The head of the dildo had breached my ring. It was inside me.

I strained and whimpered. "Please, Grady. It's too . . .Oh, shit, Oh, fuck!" With a jerk, I arched my back and gave a little cry. He dropped my leg and wrapped his arm around my neck, holding me close to him, as I felt the shaft of the dildo moving deeper inside me.

"Shush," he whispered in my ear, "You'll be fine. You're doing fine. The head's in; the shafts not as thick. You're doing just fine."

"Please, Grady. Take it out. Oh, shit!"

He had withdrawn it a bit but then pushed it in again, farther in. His own dick, hard and pulsating, held steady inside me. Out and then further in. Out and . . . He laughed a low, guttural laugh.

"You love it."

Withdrawing to just inside the rim, rotating the bulb of the dildo. Panting, panting, begging him with my eyes, pleading with him. Wanting his cock, just his cock fucking me. Not both. "Holy crap!" I howled as the dildo plunged back into me, deep. Again the laugh and the repeated, "You love it, I know you do. I can tell you've never had this done before, that you love it. Opens you right up for all sorts of fun shit. Drive a truck in there when we're done."

Short pumping it. I'm moaning. Feel myself getting harder. I can't deny it, it was just so, so arousing. Feel like I'm going to spout. Bringing it back so close to the prostate. If he hits that, I'm gonna blow.

He wasn't going to stop. I did what I could to relax. And it seemed to help. But he pressed it in farther, almost as deep as his own cock.

"Please, Grady."

"Shush, Jeff, you're doing fine. More than fine. You told me you'd do anything for me for a fuck, didn't you?"

"Yes, but . . ." I had told him I'd do anything to be lying under him. Ever since college I'd wanted him—even more so when I found out he fucked guys. But he'd never fucked me before. Others had. He knew they had. But never him in college. Told me I was special; that he'd been saving me.

Afterward, when he was starting up a line of men's wear and selling it successfully, he'd come to me. For a model he'd said. Hired me to his permanent staff. And then he was willing to fuck me. But not until I pledged to let him do whatever he wanted with me.

This was what he was doing to me. Stretching me. Not just with his own huge cock, but also with a dildo at the same time.

He was working the dildo more rapidly now, in and twist, out. The long plunge, with me moaning and groaning and writhing under him, trapped in his strong arms. Emotionally trapped in wanting him, wanting him inside me, fucking me.

"Oh, god, Grady. Pleeazzzz!"

"Not till you come for me, Jeff. You come first and then I'll give you the real fucking cock. My cock. But you want to be able to take two men. I know you do. You took men on a string in college."

Yes, I thought, but not at once, not two in the hole at the same time.

"Come for me, Jeff. Show me you want it."

I was so close to coming anyway that I didn't really need any encouragement or see anything useful in pleading that I wanted his cock working in me more than this. My mouth flew open and I jerked and came with a long sigh.

"There, that was nice. I liked that. You liked that too despite what you were saying. Now the real thing"

I moaned as the dildo was drawn out of me—most of the way. But then he plunged it in again and I was fairly lifted off the surface of the bed in surprise and shock. He laughed and pulled it all the way out. Then he grabbed my hips in his strong hands, lifted my pelvis off the surface of the bed toward his, and fucked me hard and fast and completely with his own monster cock, not coming until I'd done so for a second time, exhausted but exhilarated and completely satisfied.

Without withdrawing, he covered me close with his heavily muscled torso and kissed my neck and my eyelids and then my mouth. A deep kiss. I felt him starting to go flaccid inside me, but not withdrawing, still reaching deep into me. I crossed my ankles on the small of his back, holding him close to me, wanting the afterglow of him going soft inside me.

"You can do it. You

did

do it," he murmured. "You will do it for me again."

Oh, shit, not again—now? Does he want me gaping permanently? I didn't ask him what he meant by what he said. In retrospect, I probably should have.

But I was occupied with other sensations. He wasn't completely hard and he was getting harder. He was kissing all over my face again, and down into the hollow of my neck. His lips and then his teeth were on my nipples, one after the other. He was hardening inside me. Young, virile, athletic. A short recuperation time. Very short. Nothing short about the cock, though. His lips devouring mine again, hunger in his kiss. Hunger in his reengorging cock.

I massaged his butt cheeks with the heels of my feet and clutched at his shoulder blades with my hands, trying to pull him as close to me as possible. "Yes, yes," I murmured. Too low for him to hear, though, I thought.

"I'm going to fuck you again," he whispered in my ear.

"Obviously," I murmured back. "Be good to me, Grady."

"You know it."

Lost in the fuck, slow, easy, a long glide and retraction this time. "Oh, shit. Oh, fuck!"

"You are mine," he murmured. "You'll do anything for me."

"Oh fuck. Yessss!"

* * * *

"Dress nice—take something from the Hamptons' line—and clean yourself out good. I'll pick you up at your apartment at eight."

I gave Grady a quizzical look.

"We've signed an important deal we need to seal," he said, sounding a bit exasperated, as if I shouldn't have felt the need to ask—even though I hadn't asked. "You're part of the deal signing. You're going to be fucked."

"Fucked?" I asked. Simply that. I didn't really say no or anything.

He flared up a bit. "You said you'd do anything if I cocked you regularly. Anything includes doing it with anyone else I say you do it with. Understand?"

"Yes, Grady. I didn't object. You were just a bit short on information."

"Eight in front of your apartment."

He picked me up in a chauffeur-driven limo. Business had gotten a lot better for him. It wasn't a stretch limo, but he was young and ambitious—intense and ambitious. There was time for that.

He also was a real hunk. I was lost to him. If he'd laid me in the backseat of the limo as we crossed LA and he'd told the limo driver he could watch and then have seconds, I wouldn't have let out a peep. But that didn't happen.

We rolled into a derelict part of Watts, much of which was still showing signs of having been burnt out in race riots. I was nervous, but Grady didn't seem to be, so I tried to show I wasn't. The block the limo stopped at the curb in was deserted and lined with litter. The vehicle had come to a stop in front of a one-story, windowless building hunkered between a sleazy-looking liquor store and a parking lot. The only hint of activity was a blinking sign over the door of a half basement walk down that read "Club Doblar" in green neon lights, with the light out on the "B."

With the light out, I read the name as "Dolar" on my way in and it had me thinking of money. It was only on the way out that I reread the sign and thought, "oh, yeah."

"This is it," Grady said. "Get out of the limo." For a minute I thought he meant to leave me here alone, but he climbed out of the car behind me.

The light inside the room—some sort of meet and greet room—we entered from the door to the street was dim, the furnishings something out of a 1950s burlesque house—the clientele sitting or standing around and looking at each other was a mixed bag of young and middle-aged; hulky, pudgy, and skinny; and white, black, Oriental, and Hispanic. What they all were, however, was that they all were very, very male. Some standing in pairs and whispering to each other. Others, younger guys, moving around the room, trying to look wanted. And they all were cruising with their eyes.

I felt all eyes on Grady and me as we were led from the room into a club room and guided to a table near a small stage with a curtain in back of it. The table faced the stage but on the other sides it was surrounded by six-foot-high screens. All of the other tables running up a couple of tiers toward the back of the room on either side of the area were similarly screened from the sides and backs. Near total privacy from the rest of the room.

There already were two men sitting at the table, across from each other, with empty chairs between them. The waiter pulled one of the chairs between the men out from the table, the chair directly facing the stage, and motioned for me to sit, which I did. Grady took the chair across from me, his back to the stage. The two men on either side of me were sitting very close to me.

He greeted the two men, letting me know that he knew them—that these were the men he was signing the deal with. That one—or maybe both of them—was going to fuck me as part of the deal signing. I took a look at them, in turn, trying not to be too obvious with my curiosity. But as both were grinning at me when I turned my face to them, this seemed not to be an issue.

"These are the Smith brothers, Jeff," Grade said. "Bill and John." He'd already told me that he wouldn't be using their real names, so I didn't snigger. They certainly didn't look like brothers. They were both older—at least older from the perspective of mid-twenties guys like Grady and me. Pushing forty-five, shall we say. And not at all looking like brothers. One was thin and rather bookish looking. Expensive clothes that were tailored for him. Not bad looking in the face. The other was puggish and thuggish, reminding me of a bulldog. Bullet head and practically no neck. I presumed guy number one was probably noticeably taller than guy number two. The bulldog was expensively dressed too, though, his clothes also obviously tailored to fit.

It made sense. Grady had told me that they were opening up a string of expensive men's boutiques in Midwestern upscale shopping malls. Consigning our clothing lines to them would double our business, and there promised to be a further expansion of our business with them if the initial deal worked out. Grady had told me that it was very, very important that I impress them.

We only had a few minutes for chit chat until the lights went down even lower than they had been in the hall before—except for the spots on the curtain—and then the curtain drew back and I gasped in shock and surprise—and rising understanding.

A young white guy was lying on a chaise lounge on the stage—completely naked. And as my eyes focused, I saw that there was a naked black guy under him, working his ass with a black cock, and another naked black guy saddled up over his spread legs, and the audience was getting a clear shot—to the accompaniment of bump and grind music, of a dance of double penetration by the black guys in the white guy's ass.

This was that kind of club. I should have thought something about it. The men in the first room we entered did seem to be in pairs and were ogling single men and whispering to each other. And here, in this room, as we were escorted down the tiers to our table, I should have noticed that the men all were in threes—and some sitting nearly—perhaps directly—on top of each other.

I felt the hands on my knees on either side of me, and the hand of the thinner guy, Bill, cupping my chin and turning my face toward his for a long kiss. The hand of the other one was unbuckling my belt, unzipping my pants. Grady must have gone under the table to flip my loafers off and to tug the trousers off my legs.

I was nearly naked, my trousers and briefs off, my jacket gone, my shirt unbuttoned and flared open, my tie still around my neck, but being used as a leash to move me as they wanted rather than for anything else. The two of them remained dressed in their suits, only their flies flared open to release their hard cocks. I wondered for days if their expensive clothes had been ruined, knowing, though, that Grady would just clothe them again in suits from our expensive line, if that's what they wanted.

Surprisingly, it was the thuggish one who was built smallish—but not too smallish to be able to hold it inside me as he sat under me, having raised me and settled me in his lap on my own chair so that I still could watch the double fucking going on on the stage—which I'll admit did help with my arousal and hardening and enjoyment of the fuck. He had his thick arms laced under mine and was stretching my arms over my head, making them useless for any sort of defense unless I really struggled. Not that there was any defense to be mounted. I was to give them anything they wanted. Grady had made my role quite clear—if I wanted to continue being cocked by him. And that's what I wanted. More than anything else. More than trying to have two cocks inside me for a brief time.

He just hadn't bothered to tell me that it would be two cocks at once. He hadn't told me he had been preparing me to double. He had just said as he continued with the cock and dildo routine that he liked me loose—loose enough to drive a truck in he'd kept saying.

All three of us were breathing heavily, but it was me doing all of the panting and most of the moaning.

The thinnish guy, John, who was the long and thick one, was doing most of the work and a lot of the grunting and groaning. He was the one crouched between my legs. He was the one stroking me deep and hard with his cock—sliding his cock over Bill's, the two of them sighing and groaning in unison, making love to each other—probably long-time lovers—while they made sex inside me. It was John who teased my nipples with his fingers and his lips and teeth as he fucked me. It was John who grasped my cock and worked it until I had ejaculated up the belly of his expensive silk shirt.

When John dipped his face to my chest, it was Grady's face I had to look past to see the double fucking performance on the stage. I didn't think they were doing any better at it on stage than these three men were doing to me—but then I was so much more intimately involved with what John and Bill . . . and Grady were doing.

Grady was hunched over the table, his hands grasping and holding my legs up and out over the table as John worked between my spread thighs. Grady's eyes were boring into mine, and he was whispering to me throughout the whole servicing of the two men, assuring me that I was doing great and that I loved every stroke of it—telling me not to screw this up.

John and Bill came almost together and collapsed into a deep shared kiss over my shoulder. Long-experienced lovers. Needing this to bring out the most in a fuck.

They hadn't moved, still inside me—they'd lasted longer than the guys on the stage had—when Bill murmured, "That was very nice. Can we take him to our hotel for the night?"

"Of course," I heard Grady answer from the other side of the table as he let my legs down, one after the other. My socked feet found the floor, but I had to maintain a wide stance as both men were still inside me. Grady's voice had a twinge of relief to it, as if he hadn't been sure that the deal would go through and now was.

I tried to think about that rather than about what I'd just done for him—or how quickly he had told them that they could take me away and do it again.

"And when you come out to St. Louis for the meetings next month, you'll bring him with you?" This asked by John, who, I was somewhat concerned to realize, was still hard inside me. Or maybe hardening again?

There was applause from the stage as the next set of three came out and started their routine standing up, with, this time, a little Thai guy between two Hispanic bruisers. Would the Smith brothers want an encore here as well? If they did, I had no doubt it would happen.

"No problem," Grady said. "Would you like me to send him out a couple of days in advance."

"That would be great," the "Smith brothers" said almost in unison.

"Do you want to double him again right now?"

The two looked at each other. No, John wasn't hardening. It had been an illusion. They both were flaccid now.

"No, thank you," Bill answered, somewhat regrettably, I thought. "I think we'd be more comfortable in the hotel room."

"Whatever you want."

Whatever they wanted. I couldn't say he hadn't warned me. But it was just for the night—this time. Tomorrow, it would just be Grady fucking me. And grateful for what I'd done for him. Surely he'd be grateful. I couldn't wait for Grady to be inside me again.