Peter's Dark Odessey Pt. 01
When our company dissolved over a series of financial scandals, Jacinta, Peter and I tried to hold our threesome together. Still, since we were no longer working together, the glue that bonded us quickly dissolved. There were several heroic last stands, but ultimately we all went our separate ways.
Peter was the annoying puppy that hung around long after the hints were given. He seemed to know when I was weakest and exploited me when I should have known better. After each encounter, I felt a ton of guilt and shame for indulging his extra-marital needs.
Yes, Peter was married to a beautiful and vivacious woman who had bared him, several children. However, Peter had an appetite that could not be satisfied at home, and he frequently searched for kinks that took him to some seedy parts of Perth. He was almost outed at one point, but the near-death of his marriage only suppressed his desires.
That suppression could not be contained for long.
Within days, Peter went in search of the next sexual high. I would receive text messages detailing his new 'discoveries' and gauging my interest in partaking. My replies were firmly negative. Occasionally, I received a proposition, usually late on a Friday or Saturday night, and, due to my alcohol intake, I would usually assent. Peter and I met in the park between the pub and my house, where I would receive a guilt-ridden but, at the time, enormously pleasing blow job. Peter would gleefully swallow my load before disappearing into the night for additional antics or to go home.
I did suck his cock several times, but generally, he preferred to be an unashamed bottom that loved to serve. Jacinta and I once fisted his arsehole, which was fun, and I had regularly dropped a load inside him when we played solo. However, it never seemed enough to satiate Peter's middle-aged lust.
Some of the more outrageous examples of his search for lust convinced me that he was not long for this world. He began snorting poppers and visiting massage parlours in the city's most obscure and out-of-the-way suburbs that seemed neither safe nor sensual, but he kept trying to tempt me.
One night, after such an intense barrage of text messages, I relented and agreed to meet him.
"What's the gig?" I tapped.
"I'm meeting up with two black guys and was wondering if you wanted to film us?"
Where Peter was concerned, it was good to be sceptical about his motives. He had previously told me about similar encounters and how I would enjoy them. However, I always demurred because Peter was fond of tall stories.
This evening, he peppered my message thread with photos of a previous encounter that intrigued me. For one, the black guys were from Africa and not indigenous, and two, while they were buff, their cocks appeared average. I guess the top one per cent makes it into porno.
Seeing photos of Peter being thoroughly used by these guys, with a gaping butthole and ropes of cum dripping down his face, causing a rise that intrigued me.
"What happened to the person that took these photos?"
"Can't make it," Peter replied, "That's why I want you."
I knew this was a bad idea, but I could not resist. Seeing my previous fuck toy used in such a slutty way overcame my self-control.
"Okay, where and when?"
"Oat Street Station car park at 11 pm?"
Looking at my watch, I had half an hour to arrive but reckoned I could do it. I finished my beer and quickly made my way to the train station. There were only two stops, and I arrived with about five minutes to spare.
Oat Street Station is a notorious stop on the train line, known locally for turf wars, violence and general debauchery. Peter knew his target to a tee.
"Psst, over here,"
I strained my eyes and saw the familiar shadowy figure lurking in a clump of trees at the far end of the station car park.
"What's happening?" I asked Peter, who attempted to kiss me.
"Just waiting for the guys," He replied, squeezing his crotch in anticipation, "Here's the camera."
"Are these the same guys?" I asked, turning on the camera and becoming familiar with its operation.
"Yeah, they are the real deal," Peter panted, "I can only do them once a week."
Peter was visibly shaking, scanning the roads for any sign of their impending arrival.
"They must scratch one of your many itches," I snickered.
"I've never been so satisfied," Peter replied before thinking for a second, "No offence, Jason."
"None taken," I said, "Whatever floats your boat."
"These two do."
Suddenly a car swung into the station car park and pulled up beside us. Cursory introductions were made, and we were invited into the car.
"Don't worry," Peter assured me, "We're going to a quiet place."
I was not worried in the slightest. The two Somalians seemed warm and friendly, not my type, but I was not here to get involved in the action, to record the evening's antics.
Minutes later, we pulled up behind an industrial facility which I recognised and mentally noted for future outdoor activities. The location was well-chosen because it was completely private, and there was no chance of discovery.
"Okay, white boy," Said one of the fellows, "On your knees."
The black guys left the headlights on so that I would have sufficient light to film the night's proceedings. I must admit that my heart was racing, my skin prickled with sweat, and my mouth went dry.
Peter dropped down while the guys unzipped their jeans. Both black cocks were limp and not very impressive in length or girth. My opinion on this did not differ after Peter had blown them to total hardness.
Both guys evidently enjoyed Peter's technique, for their heads were craned backwards, and they constantly moaned in satisfaction. Both black cocks slid effortlessly down Peter's throat, and he was happiest when a hand on the back of his head forced another millimetre of man meat, causing him to gag.
Filming this and witnessing this depravity up front was exceptionally arousing for me. It was fascinating, and I was so enthralled that I offered no direction and let the three actors dictate the story.
Quickly the black guys emptied a load across and on Peter's face. What spilt into his mouth was greedily gulped down, much to his enjoyment.
"That was a fucking great scene, guys," I complimented the trio, "I captured the hottest action."
The trio were spent, but not for long, I thought. They broke out some Mary Jane and puffed heartily while conversing about innocuous shit in low murmurs.
"I'm ready for this little white faggot to please me," said one after maybe a fifteen-minute interlude.
"Yeah, I'm ready for a piece of ass," said the other.
A run-of-the-mill spit roast event followed, with the black guys taking turns on Peter's arse and mouth. There was so much more that he was capable of.
"Why don't you DP him?" I asked as the frustration was boiling up inside me.
"Huh?" Asked one of the black me whose cock was deep in Peter's shitter, "He can't do that!"
