Two Turntables and a Microphone

Author's note: I have a crush on a DJ. He's fine as fuck. Two turntables and a microphone looks like a dick and balls. I'm mature.

*

I can't make out exactly what the DJ looks like through the spinning lights and thumping beats, but I can see his hips swaying just above the turntables, a glossy black beard, and quick fingers, and that's enough for me. I saunter up to the "DJ booth" corner of the small club―a pile of amps next to a folding table and a barstool―and give him a slow smile.

"You look thirsty. Can I get you some water? Or something?"

He looks into my face for a long moment before glancing down to the rest of my body. Up close, I see his swooping eyebrows, dark eyes, and plump lips. Dude is so fine, I have trouble believing he's not knee-deep in admirers. At all times. "Sure, some water would be... what's your name?"

"Davy."

"It would be great, Davy," he replies with an unsuccessful attempt to keep his eyes on mine and not on my mouth. I linger for a second, until he adds, "I'm Luis."

"I'll be right back, Luis." About fifteen feet away, I stop to look back at him; he's resumed dancing and spinning but clearly is eyeing my booty-short wearing, black-flagging-on-the-right, light-blue-flagging-on-the-left ass. Excellent. I get myself to the bar, swinging my butt as much as possible, pour two waters from the pitcher and return to the DJ's sexy self as quick I can manage (without feeling *too* desperate, that is).

"Thank you, Davy," he says quietly, drawing my name out slowly while sipping the water. We make flirtatious small talk, moving closer and closer, until his hand is on my hip and he whispers, "Would you like to dance?" against my ear. I emit a small gasp at the touch and nod happily. Immediately, his chest presses against my back, his other hand holds my shoulder to keep us close. I sigh and back up against him, my ass drawing figure-eights around his crotch. I hear a small growl behind me, though I know he was trying to contain it. I turn around in his arms, still gyrating against him. "That is one shit-eating grin, you know that? You're gonna drive me crazy, boy."

I smile even wider. "I sure hope so." Somewhat amazed by my own audacity―usually I wait for the other person to make the moves―I ask, "When does the next DJ come on?"

"Ten minutes."

"I'll be outside in five," I whisper before leaning up on my tiptoes and brushing a kiss against his cheek. Without looking back this time, I strut off to the dance floor and immediately begin dancing with the friends I came with―the kind of dancing more commonly known as "clothed sex" or "frottage with bass accompaniment." I try not to look at him too much, but my dick won't entirely let it rest. Taking sly peeks through my eyelashes, I see him dancing more sensually than ever... and staring at me hungrily. The first time, he didn't see me looking (I think), but he catches my eye the second and I turn away, blushing furiously. But after a few minutes of hardcore dancing, I pull away from the pulsing circle of dancers and head for the door.

It's dark and warm outside, unseasonably pleasant for the April evening. I pull a clove from my pack and light it with a match―I quit smoking a while ago, but I like enjoy having something that makes my mouth delicious and satisfies my oral fixation when I'm trying to get laid. The song filtering through the doors ends on my second drag; by the fourth, I hear footsteps behind me and feel him tugging my belt loop.

"You got another one of those?"

I pull the pack from my back pocket and hand him a black cylinder. "I don't have a lighter, we'll have to butt fuck," I state matter-of-factly, pulling him closer to me by his hanging cloth belt.

"Ooooh, you're such a tease," he mutters, but leans in to light up agreeably enough.

I think I know where he's going with this, and I decide to bite. "Oh, yes, I'm a very... naughty... boy..." I drawl, puppy-eyes widening with each syllable.

"For fuck's sake! That's it." He throws his stoge to the ground and kisses me fiercely, not yet slipping me tongue, but nibbling gently on my bottom lip and rubbing firm strokes up and down my back.

I moan raggedly, opening my mouth to him and grinding helplessly against his thigh. As our tongues touch for the first time, I help myself to fat handfuls of his hips and ass, making sure he knows how much I'm enjoying his raging erection pressing against my pelvis. I bite his lip―hard—and then pull my mouth away with a slight whimper, long enough to say, "I might need to be punished," and take a long, deliberate drag on my clove before diving back into the splendor that is making out with Luis.

I think I hear, "Is that so?" but it's muffled by the kiss and I can't be sure. He stops kissing me entirely and takes a full step back; we aren't touching at all until he runs a flat palm down my torso, stopping just above my junk. "Do you have a safeword?"

I nod delightedly. "Yes, it's 'pineapple'."

In a flash, his fingers are around my throat. "That's 'Yes, Sir, it's "pineapple".' Got it?"

I gulp. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Get on your knees. Yeah, yeah. Kiss my cock through my jeans."

I could practically see it pulse, and set to my task happily, kissing and licking as I tried vainly to find a way to suck on the head without freeing it from the black denim.

He pulls me up by the hair. Smacks my face lightly with his other hand. "That's enough, you dirty slut. Follow me." Without letting go of my hair, he starts walking to an alley running alongside and behind the building. As soon as we reach the shadows, he pins me to the rough wall and just devours my mouth and neck, kissing, sucking, and biting. I think I feel blood and squirm, trying to get closer than clothes will allow.

When he takes my entire trachea between his teeth and begins to exert a slow, gentle pressure, I groan loudly and manage to gasp, "Thank you, Sir." For a few terrifying, exhilarating, edifying seconds, I can't breathe, but he lets go quickly to appraise my reactions.

"Can you deepthroat?"

My brain isn't functioning on a verbal level, so I drop to my knees and unzip his fly. Too impatient to undo his belt, I yank his cock out roughly, shove a condom over it, and swallow it in one gulp. It's been fully hard for a while now, to judge by the state of the bright red/purple head and distinctly popping veins. I swallow around it a few times, running the stud of my tongue ring up and down it without moving my head off it even a little. When I grow short of breath, I back off slightly, tonguing the edge of the head and flicking my tongue up and down it—until he grabs an ear with one hand, a fistful of hair with the other, and starts face fucking me. Every so often, he pulls his dick out of my throat long enough to smack me in the face and neck with it a few times. I am delirious with glee.

Until he yanks my hair, pulling my mouth firmly off him and holds my face some distance from his crotch. I mewl with desire, but he just looms above be, regarding me sexily, somewhat contemptuously.

"Do you want me to go down on you?"

The thought itself is enough to drive me crazy and I nod like a bobble head.

"Beg me," he says flatly, a predatory look spreading across his face as he employs my hair to haul me upright.

"I'm trans*," I reply by way of explanation, keeping eye contact and grasping his other hand, pressing it firmly into my crotch.

He nods. "That's not a problem for me if it's not a problem for you."

"Please, Sir... please, I want you to suck my cock. I need it so bad.

"Is that a fact. I'm sure you're familiar with the principles of supply and demand. Tell me, what are you prepared to offer in return for my services?"

"Ooohh," I moan. "I don't care. I'm yours. You can do whatever you want to me. Fuck me wherever. Just please... oh, please, Sir, please suck my cock. He's so hard, he hurts."

He grunts, perhaps in contemplation, perhaps in lust, and spins me around so my face and chest are pinned to the bricks. "Fuck. You. Wherever," he menaces in my ear, punctuating each word with a hard smack on my ass. "Do you know what you're getting yourself into, boy?"

"I, uh, hope I find out... Sir," I choke out, quivering, shoving my ass away from the wall, seeking his hand, his mouth, something.

"What are you waiting for? If you want me to suck it, whip that cock out. Slut," he sneers.

I swallow and nod. "Yes, Sir." I turn back around so my shoulders and ass rest against the building, but my feet are spaced a few feet in front of it, spread wide. He's staring at my crotch with wide, lusty pupils, and I fumble with the buttons on my fly for a few seconds before I can wiggle them down by hips slightly. I can feel my boybox soaking through my boxer briefs, but I don't want him to lick me there (yet). My hard dick is straining eagerly against my fly, and as he sinks slowly to his knees in front of me, looking reverently at what I'm about to reveal, I reach my fingers into the fly and spread the edges, letting my cock spring free. He looks pleased, and is about to close the last centimeter between his tongue and the jutting glans when I say, "One second." I fish a dental dam out of my back pocket, open it quickly, and shove it in place between my crotch and my underwear. I have this theory the placement of my very tight shorts will keep it in place. "Go ahead."

Instead, he flicks my cock with his forefinger. Not too hard, but, damn, hard enough.

"Sir! I meant. Please. I'm ready for you."

He lifts an eyebrow, as if to say he's letting me off easy, and then dives in with vigor, switching off between licking up the shaft with his long, wet tongue and engulfing it entirely, sucking ferociously until I feel myself somehow swelling even larger and stiffer in his mouth. When he finally releases me I glance down and it looks like my dick is sticking out a half inch further than it usually does, but how close I am to orgasm is sort of impairing my vision, so who knows.

"Oh, Sir, why did you stop? I'm so close, I need to come, oh plea-"

He pinches my cock tightly between two fingertips, effectively silencing my babbling pleas. "In a moment, I will let you come. Then I am going to fuck you. Then you are going to lick me clean. Then I am going to fuck you in the ass while I fist you, and I will let you come again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. Now, what do you want me to call it when I fuck you between your ass and your cock, slut?"

"My, my b-boombox," I stammer. I'd found the term online but never had the audacity to actually use it, but the whole stern-yet-accepting-attitude-and-ohshit-we're-still-20-feet-from-the-door thing was making me feel fucking wild. "Or, uhm, cunt or snatch."

He moves in until the tip of his tongue is resting against my cock but his lips aren't, quite. "Boombox," he murmurs low in his throat. "I like that." The vibrations make me shiver. "I am going to suck your cock again. When you want to come, you must ask. I will bite down once for 'no' and twice for 'yes,' is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," I choke out. Immediately the inside of my skull is awash in fantastical patterns and flashing lights. He driving me towards an orgasm the likes of which I have seldom felt. "Please, Sir, let me come," I scream and feel him bite once. I can't stop begging though. "I'm so close, I'm so close, please, Sir, I can't wait to feel you inside me, I need to come so bad, please, Sir," and finally he bites twice.

My hips buck wildly, my box gushes, my brain explodes, my legs collapse. I hear some kind of noise, feel as if the world is turning inside out through me. When I can finally deal with being where I am, I realize I'm propped up on his forearms, slumped against the wall, knees over his shoulder, flushed and sweaty and looking entirely like faggot-ass gutter filth. I have managed to leak around the dental dam and through my denim shorts, making a visible wet spot. I muse distractedly that my snatch is trying to make a "FUCK ME NOW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD" billboard and pretty much succeeding.

"Oh... Sir. That was... oh... please fuck me. I'm so wet. I need you so bad right now."

He unhooks my legs from his neck and I collapse to the alley floor. "Since you asked so nicely..." He stands, hauls me to my feet, kisses me tenderly. For a long time. I'm swooning when he finishes; it takes me a few seconds to comprehend what he means when he says, "Drop those skanky shorts, turn around, bend over, and spread yourself. I am gonna crank the bass in that boombox until the speakers blow." He has an entirely serious face on as he spouts that ridiculousness, and I am head-over-heels in lust. I comply as quickly as possible given how trembly my knees are.

His cock presses against the opening, and then fills me in a moment; my body knows what it wants and sucks him in deep, quick, cock hungry and soaked with need. I feel him bottom out and moan, which turns into screams, which turns into wordless sounds, rising and falling with his thrusts, an undulating sing-song tone.

"You're coming without my permission, you know that? You're going to be punished for that."

I nod absentmindedly, grinning blissfully, unable to focus enough to make eye contact.

"Oh no. We can't have that." He pulls out of me abruptly, spins me around. With my ass still high in the air, he guides my mouth to his cock and I lap it eagerly. "You came so much, you dirty faggot. Getting your dirty faggot man cum all over my nice clean dick. That's right, lick it up. Whore." He spanks me repeatedly, hard and fast, making it seem effortless despite the somewhat awkward angle. I'm sure my ass is glowing. When he's satisfied with my punishment, and my cleaning job, he hauls me upright, pulls my shorts and underwear, scraps that they are, off me entirely and throws them to the ground. "You know what time is now, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, Sir. I can't wait."

"What time is it, you little h-mo?"

"You're going to fuck me in the ass."

"Aaaand..."

At this point, my knees are again over his shoulders, his lube-covered cock is nudging at my asshole, he's holding my torso up with my nipples (and his fingernails!), and he's staring obviously at my crotch. "And you're going to fist my cunt, oh god, Sir, I can't wait, please-"

-and he's balls deep in my ass (luckily for me he's not overly huge, but I feel fucking full), two fingers sunk in the boombox, rubbing insistently against my G-spot. Soon it's three, then four, pistoning in out at such a speed I almost don't notice when the thumb slips in as well. But- "OH FUCK," I scream at the top of my lungs, coming without permission again. And I don't stop. "Oh fuck oh fuck motherfucker oh oh shit damn I've never fuck felt anything fucking like this oh fuck yes fuck fuck yes oh don't stop oh oh," and so on. I can see his wrist sinking into me. It's so hot. "Oh, yes, Sir, yes. Can you feel your dick through me?" He nods, once. "Give yourself a hand job, please, Sir, use me, I'm yours, fuck, I'm your faggot cumslut, yes." His hand twists, and opens slightly—his knuckles are now hitting my G-spot every time he pulls his hand out, his middle finger hits my cervix every time he drives it back in, and wall between my cunt and ass feel like it's on fire with orgasms. Feeling his hand grabbing his dick makes it feel almost as if I can feel what he's feeling, as if I can feel what it feels like to fuck me. "I want you to come in me, please, please," I'm almost incoherent but I guess he can make it out okay, since I can definitely feel him shooting inside me, even through the condom, and I let loose one last gush of cum, soaking his arm and both of our crotches.

He slowly—reluctantly?—pulls his arm out of me, uses his other arm to steady me and lowers me to the ground. "Sir? I'm still stuck, your cock is still in me."

"Yes." He kisses me, gently, almost as if reassuring me, for a long time, but when his erection eventually begins to subside, he pulls out and tosses the refuse into a handy dumpster. "I play here every Thursday. And I do have a phone number..."