JAY AND JERRY
Jay tried to get on with some typesetting at his computer—as usual the publisher was pushing him to meet a deadline—but this particular Saturday evening it was no good. He hadn’t had sex since the previous weekend when his married builder friend had come round for the usual quick fuck, and with Jay’s testosterone level he was way overdue for some action. Nearly six foot tall, slim, moustached, and endowed with an 8 and a half inch boner, Jay, even in his forties, was still in demand round the leather fuck clubs in London. It was just a short coach trip from his home in Oxford so he put in a regular appearance, but not so often that the guys tired of seeing him. And they knew that he never turned up with just casual conversation in mind. Anyhow, now that the thought of a visit to the wicked city had entered his head, Jay’s jeans were straining. He looked down at the damp patch that had oozed out of his foreskin and spread through his underpants onto his Levi’s. Giving the long sausage shape a squeeze, Jay said ‘Fuck it!’, switched off the computer, and headed for the shower.
Ten minutes later he was standing naked (and predictably rock hard) in front of the wardrobe. Jeans or chaps? No contest—his jeans were great for posing but a bit tight, and he was in no mood to struggle with his fly once he reached the darkened back area of the Shaft. ‘I wish the leather shop would hurry up with my sailor’s jeans’, he thought. He’d spotted them on the rack the last time he was in town, and was having a snug pair made to measure, with a convenient ‘port-hole’ for his dick and a studded flap which would pull open in one movement and let him get on with the action without any pissing around. But for now it was going to be chaps. He folded them and put them in his rucksack, then climbed quickly into a black jockstrap—the nice snug one that lifted his pert buttocks and showed off his hairy rear to best advantage—and Levis. Ten minutes later and he had put on his leather waistcoat, its pockets slightly bulging with lube sachets, condoms, and poppers, got on a pair of shiny Dutch army boots, and donned his biker’s jacket. .He looked good as he strode down the street for the bus stop, aware that the neighbours, mostly elderly couples and widows, watched his every move, and enjoying the thought of slightly scandalizing them.
The coach journey was quick at 9 o’clock on a Saturday—most of those out for a night in London had gone earlier and he was able to stretch out on a double seat, with just a couple of other passengers at the other end of the bus. He had a nice catnap, thinking of the scene ahead and enjoying the feel of his straining cock stretching down his left leg after it had snaked its way out of the confines of the jockstrap.
It was almost 11 when Jay reached the Shaft, perfect timing as his membership gave him free entry up till 11, and the club was just starting to fill up. So he had plenty of time to get into his chaps in the gents without the usual queue of guys. He looked good in the steel mirror as he emerged from the cubicle, and went to have a piss before handing in his rucksack. To his surprise and pleasure James was already in his favourite position, sprawled along the trough in his army combats and ready for a good night’s soaking. Jay knew the guy was called James though they had never spoken: James was around 30, light ginger hair and moustache, hairy chest frothing out of his combat jacket, which was always open to the waist—and he just lived for piss. He instinctively opened his mouth as Jay pulled at his jockstrap and let his semi-hard dick flop out, which elicited an enthusiastic raised eyebrow from James before his stache and mouth got the soaking they craved. After an interminable piss Jay bent down to kiss James, and was surprised at the frisson of pleasure he got from the acrid taste of his own piss. He got a quick mental flash of a video sequence he’d seen where a guy lay on his back and pissed into his own mouth. The thought ‘Must try that’ formed in his mind, only to be immediately stifled by ‘Don’t be so fucking soft—might be worth trying on some cute hairy sub, though...’
This initial bit of fun over, Jay was ready to face the bar, and after handing in his rucksack and biker’s jacket was surprised to see how full it was. He’d had a longer kiss with James than he’d realized—much longer as it was almost midnight now, and he could see that the little niches and corners at the back were already filling up. He didn’t need to order his drink as the barman knew he stuck to low alcohol beer, and it was provided immediately by the bristly guy in a leather jockstrap who always seemed to give Jay precedence when serving. The barman also cocked his head towards the far corner of the bar, where Jay could see an exceptionally beautiful guy in immaculate leathers. Exactly the sort he went for: black hair, full moustache, tight-fitting leather gear (LA cop uniform), and an impressive bulge (which Jay quickly took in as he pretended to pick up a dropped coin from the floor, happy to see that the guy’s open crotch was facing right his way). Jay liked his men super-masculine, but specialized in getting them to turn over for him and take a heavy pounding. ‘If that’s haveable, I’m having it’, he thought as his heart raced. But he wasn’t one to waste a couple of hours chatting a guy up for no guaranteed result. He liked to show what was on offer and leave it to the other guy to respond or not, as he wished.
So Jay headed straight for the back of the club, but slowing down enough to let the new stud see exactly what he looked like. He knew the guy was looking—in fact he’d obviously placed himself in an ideal observation spot, where he could see everyone coming in, and just by turning round on the stool could also view the action at the back. ‘Maybe a looker rather than a doer’, thought Jay, and was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment, since, predatory loner that he was, he didn’t generally waste time wondering what a good time he might have with someone else when there was an abundance on offer that he could enjoy right away. And what an abundance tonight! Jay homed in on Nick, in his usual position hanging on to the iron railings, leather shorts kicked off into a corner, greased up and ready for anybody. Nick’s friend Rod was hovering nearby, always watchful in case some thoughtless guy decided to try barebacking. But the guys in the Shaft were in the main pretty responsible, and Nick loved to let go once in a while, open to each and every rampant cock that came his way, and completely out of it (he loved to get drunk and egg the tops on with ‘Fuck my hungry hole, big man’, and other choice phrases that would never pass his lips sober).
Jay was all the more fired up at the thought of Nick’s transformation. A tall blond goateed stud with a gym-honed figure, Nick had often coincided with Jay at the back of the Shaft, and the pair had come to enjoy fucking a sub turn about—or rather thrust about, since they each loved to plunge in, then right out, then let the other do the same. The cock-hungry guys at the Shaft loved this and many thought that Nick and Jay were an item, out hunting together and doing a very popular line in double fucking. So, unusually for him, Jay had actually got to know Nick, often chatting with him at the bar after a hot session, and one night had accepted Nick’s invitation to go back to his place, which was welcome as Jay was very tired and didn’t fancy the journey home at four in the morning. When they got there Nick had downed three very large gins inside fifteen minutes, telling Jay that he liked to blank out once in a while. Jay said he didn’t mind but was surprised at just how drunk Nick got—he’d obviously had rather a lot at the bar and was now finding it hard even to stand up, let alone speak. He collapsed on the sofa and was out for the count. Jay was instantly restored to full alertness, despite the late hour: this was his big turn-on, super masculine studs who know how to fuck but in a vulnerable condition might, just might...
‘Nothing like that on the cards here, I think,’ Jay muttered to himself, but thought he’d enjoy a quick feel while Nick was out cold. And anyway he ought to help him out of his gear. That took a full half hour as Nick was a dead weight and didn’t give Jay any help at all. But when Jay turned round after folding Nick’s leather jeans (Jay was a stickler for neatness) he was happy to see that Nick had half turned over, exposing his nice fuzzy crack and sporting a surprisingly healthy hard-on in view of his state. ‘That’s beautiful!’ Jay said to himself, and, still in his full leathers, instantly knelt down to work his stache and tongue over Nick’s shithole. There was a gasp of pleasure from the drunken stud; Jay congratulated himself, and in particular his stache, on his skill in the arse-licking department. What he didn’t expect was the slurred, but unmistakable ‘Fuck my hole, you bastard!’ Jay didn’t need any more encouragement—that kind of verbal from a sub was always a great turn-on for him, and he tore open a sachet of lube. Another moan of pleasure as the cold stuff worked its way into Nick’s hole. Putting on the condom, Jay got on with what he did best, and fucked Nick long and hard, fired up by the grunts and occasional drunken phrases that he could make out. He and Nick had both come five times earlier in the evening (with five different, and very grateful, cock-hungry men), but Jay still shot a full week’s load into the rubber and gasped at the waves of pleasure the orgasm gave him. Yet fearful of Nick’s reaction in the morning he crept out of the flat and took the coach home, now a bit regretful that his friendship with Nick was obviously ended.
He needn’t have worried. In a telephone call lasting fully two hours the next day Nick told Jay that it had been the most liberating experience of his life, that finally he’d known what it was like to have all the initiative, all the decision-making, taken from him and just be there for the pleasure of a hot guy who knew what he wanted and was not slow about taking his enjoyment when the opportunity arose. He couldn’t wait to do it again. ‘But you don’t remember what happened when you were out cold?’ said Jay. ‘Listen, friend, when a guy’s been fucked the way you fuck, he knows all right. By God he knows.’
Nowadays Nick was pretty well always a sub when he was out on the scene, though Jay knew that he topped with his friend Rod (and the thought of his versatility would sometimes cause Jay a pang of wistfulness, for no reason that he bothered to dwell on). Now here Nick was at the back of the club, still every inch the all-masculine stud, but arse wide open for all the action it could get. Jay wasn’t going to disappoint him and tore into his waiting fuckhole, pounding without remission for a full ten minutes before releasing the week’s frustrations in one almighty climax. Unusual for him, since he generally liked to fuck three or four guys at least, and only cum with the last one. But he thought: ‘I’ll not find anybody better than Nick, will I?’ So tonight was an exception, and, pulling on Nick’s collar so that he could give him a long wet kiss, he shoved his dick back in his jockstrap and patted it happily. Nick returned the kiss eagerly, but Jay could see from his glazed eyes that he scarcely knew where he was, let alone who had just fucked him. He winked at Rod, who was standing lost in admiration, and returned to the bar.
Only to be surprised by the appearance of a large beer. ‘Compliments of your friend’, said the barman. Jay was about to say ‘I don’t drink this strong stuff’, but on glancing up the bar realized that the ‘friend’ was the stud who had been in the same corner all evening. This was one introduction Jay wasn’t going to forgo, so he nodded his thanks to the stranger and took a long drink from the bottle—he was thirsty after his exertions, after all. He emptied most of it in one go and was caught unawares by the rush of intoxication—and by the instant appearance at his side of Jerry, the beautiful American who, as Americans do, immediately introduced himself in a friendly and easy manner. ‘That was some performance, er......’ ‘The name’s Jay, and thanks for the beer, Jerry.’ Jay was slightly concerned that he had half-slurred this simple sentence—he didn’t want to fluff his chances with this hunk. ‘I’m glad you liked it. You should’ve come over and given me a hand.’ ‘Oh, giving a hand is one thing I’m quite good at’, Jerry grinned, his eyes sparkling with humour, ‘But I think you were managing very well on your own. Besides, the real turn-on was to see those hairy buns of yours thrusting back and forth. A beautiful sight.’ ‘Like the Taj Mahal, Jerry.’ ‘How so?’ ‘The tourists are welcome to admire it but nobody gets to touch.’ ‘Ha ha! Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy a bit of expert rimming—and what use is a nice bushy moustache like mine if it can’t provide a bit of pleasure for a friend?’, said Jerry mischievously. Jay was surprised and pleased: he was a quick thinker and not used to getting an equally fast response to his banter. Instead of trying to prove himself with this guy, he knew that they would get on well as equals. ‘Well, if that’s an offer, I guess it would be impolite to say No to a visitor to our country’, Jay said ‘An offer it certainly is, Jay. You still thirsty by the way?’ ‘Oh, forgive me, it’s my turn’, said Jay, turning to the bar. ‘Two more beers please.’ Jay had meant to ask for a low alcohol one for himself, but hated correcting himself in front of others, and in fact was happy to see the bartender take the lid off another pair of their strongest brand.
After he’d downed the second beer, again in record time, Jay was feeling distinctly woozy and not quite keeping up with Jerry’s conversation. But what he did know was that he enjoyed listening to Jerry’s gentle American tones, looking into his strong gaze, and feeling the strain and tension drain from his body. ‘So is that a yes?’ said Jerry. ‘Oh sorry, didn’t quite hear you’, said Jay. ‘You mean you’re too pissed! Well that settles it, I’m house-sitting for a friend just round the corner and you can sleep it off there.’ ‘Sleep it off? I’m not drunk!’ But as Jay got off the bar stool he realized he was having trouble keeping his balance, and gratefully accepted the strong arm that Jerry proffered to steady him. ‘Well maybe just a bit tired, though’, Jay said sheepishly, and none too clearly. They left right away, Jay causing a bit of amusement at the cloakroom when he bent down to retrieve the check-in ticket from his boot and fell to the ground. The staff at the club hadn’t seen him in that state before and laughingly helped him to his feet and out into the cool air, Jerry holding on to him.
It was fortunate that the house really was just round the corner, and if Jay had been more with it he would have recognized it as the home of Joe, the owner of the Shaft, who was away on holiday at the time. Jay had been there a couple of times for sex parties—Joe had every conceivable bit of equipment in his cellar and was generous in inviting club members back to his place for what was always a very wild end to a Friday or Saturday evening. Jerry got Jay in and sat him down on the black leather sofa while he went to get a couple of drinks from the kitchen. ‘I don’t think I want any more to drink’ said Jay. ‘Quite right’, said Jerry—’This is just a fruit juice to keep up your liquid intake—the alcohol you’ve had will dehydrate you.’ Jay was impressed and relieved that Jerry was so well in control of the situation—this was exactly the kind of thing that Jay himself was used to thinking of when looking after friends who had overindulged. Thanks he said, downing the glass in one go. It tasted slightly bitter. ‘Must be aloe juice or something’, thought Jay. He was feeling very at ease now—not tired as it hadn’t been a particularly late night—but with all the tension gone from his body. Jerry, who had already downed a strong beer and was opening another, was looking intently at him, his strong penetrating glance meeting Jay’s eyes direct. ‘Anything the matter?’ said Jay. ‘Nothing at all’, said Jerry, ‘You’re looking very relaxed Jay. Do you feel relaxed?’ ‘Yes I do’, said Jay, slightly colouring as he realized he was slurring his words rather indistinctly. ‘You don’t need to make conversation if it tires you, Jay. Just look at me and relax. You enjoy that, don’t you?’ said Jerry. ‘Yeeeeessss’, said Jay. ‘That’s right, Jay, just look into my eyes and you will get more and more relaxed. Feel all the tension go from you body. You like listening to me, soothing your tension away, don’t you, stud?’ ‘Yessir’, Jay said, half-wondering where the ‘sir’ had come from—a distant echo of his territorial army training years ago?—but too relaxed to care, and aware of a strong hard-on which had sprung to life the moment Jerry had addressed him as ‘Stud’.
Jay remembered nothing after that, until he awoke, face down, naked, and spreadeagled on Joe’s fuck-bench in the cellar. But as he strained instinctively to try and free himself from the ankle and wrist restraints, he was aware that his buttocks were clenching on something. The collar allowed him just enough room to turn his head to the mirrored wall, where, in spite of the dim lighting, he could make out a sizeable dildo projecting from his arse, held in place by a cord through the ring on the base, which was attached to the collar. ‘What the fuck?’ he yelled, but even as he did so he realized two things: the dildo wasn’t hurting, even though he’d last been fucked twenty years ago at least, and he’d just sprung a powerful hard-on, which only got stronger the more he strained. And the more he strained the deeper the dildo went in. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted. Then he heard a splashing sound, and looking in the mirror, he saw Jerry, naked now except for a pair of tight leather shorts which exaggerated the beautiful form of his pert buttocks, pissing through the ring-hole in the front of the shorts into a bottle. ‘Thirsty stud’ said Jerry, and suddenly Jay felt his mouth on fire. ‘Give me a drink!’ he yelled. ‘Certainly stud, anything in particular?’ ‘No, whatever you got, my mouth’s burning up here, Jerry, PLEASE.’ ‘All I got is this’, said Jerry, who was swaying visibly as he held up the pint bottle he had all but filled. Jay was astonished to hear himself shout, ‘Yes PLEASE. That’s what I want. Give it to me Sir, PLEASE.’ ‘That’s my good stud’, said Jerry, and he walked, or rather staggered, over and kneeling down pulled up Jay’s head roughly by the collar and made him drink the lot. Jay’s thirst was instantly slaked and he mumbled ‘Thank you Sir.’ Mumbled because the piss, high in alcohol content, had sent his head spinning.
Jerry eased himself to his feet unsteadily. He had had a long night, slowly bringing Jay under his complete hypnotic control, and had been drinking constantly. Unused to the extra-strength beer that Joe always kept in abundance, he had known he was getting drunk, but didn’t mind since he was also so confident of his hypnotic powers that he had been able to perform a complete induction on Jay in spite of that. And Jerry was an expert hypnotist. Had he not persuaded Jay the previous night that he was getting drunker and drunker when in fact he’d barely had more alcohol than usual? But he had guessed from the way Jay was so fired up at the sight of the drunken Nick that secretly—unknown even to himself—Jay was turned on at the thought of getting pissed and being used hard by a strong master, a man even more masculine and in control than Jay himself. Jerry had realized all this and was able to play on Jay’s deep-seated wish to be dominated. Once Jerry had discovered how easy it was to make Jay think he was drunk, the later induction back at the house had not really been very hard, and now Jay was completely in Jerry’s power, ready to do whatever he wanted.
But Jerry was now very drunk himself, something that didn’t happen very often but was guaranteed to bring out the horniest side of his nature. Boy was he going to have fun. He fumbled for the key to the restraints and collar and released Jay, knowing now that there was no danger of any retaliation from his new slave. The best conquest he’d ever made—a handsome, experienced top guy who had now met his match. And not only as regards personality—Jerry was a good inch longer than Jay’s 8 and a half inches, and he was sure in the mood to make use of his boner, now standing fully erect after the release of piss from his straining bladder. ‘Suck it, stud’ he said to Jay, and in half a second Jay had sprung to his feet, the dildo falling to the ground, and, was on his knees, the end of Jerry’s dick being squeezed and released by the delicate muscles at the back of Jay’s throat. ‘Shit’, thought Jerry—’the best blowjob ever.’ ‘Stop, stud’ he said quickly, before he came, and Jay released the throbbing dick with no more than a passing look of regret on his face. Even the old Jay loved sucking dick, always a favourite distraction of his while his finger worked on a man’s butt, but the new Jay was completely obedient to Jerry’s commands and was not about to hang on to his master’s fuckmeat if Sir had something else in mind.
And Jerry certainly did. He need to fuck, and hard. ‘Put this on me, Stud’ ‘Yessir’ said Jay, taking the proffered condom and sliding it over Jerry’s shaft in one quick move.
‘On the bench and spread ‘em, Stud’, he barked, and Jay had his arse in the air immediately. ‘What do you want, Stud?’ ‘I want your dick up my fucking arse, Sir. All the way and for as long as you want to give it to me.’ Jerry leered with satisfaction at his power over this hunk, spread Jay’s legs even wider, and, shoved his monster dick into Jay’s well-greased arse up to the hilt. The dildo had done its work and Jay took it all with no difficulty. He shouted at the top of his voice: ‘Sir, fuck me hard Sir, make me your cumwhore, Sir. I want your fucking dick in me always Sir. Fuck me deeper, Sir DEEPER.’ That was too much for Jerry, who enjoyed the verbal encouragement of a sub as much as Jay had always done, and he emptied his straining nuts into the condom, which was immediately filled to capacity. Pulling out, he turned the rubber inside out and caught the load in his palm. ‘Something for you Stud’. ‘Thank you Sir’ said Jay, and even Jerry was impressed by the alacrity with which Jay licked up every last drop immediately. ‘Good Stud’, said Jerry. ‘You may beat off now.’ ‘Thank you Sir’, said Jay again, who need no more than five deft strokes before he pulled back his foreskin, roared, and shot so hard that it splattered over Jerry’s moustache. Jerry, now on the verge of passing out cold, simply laughed and ordered Jay to clear it up, which Jay did by means of a long and passionate, and very wet, kiss.
Jerrry lay face down on the rubber mattress in the cellar and ordered Jay to rim his arse until he fell asleep. Jay needed no extra encouragement and worked his expert tongue and stache around—and even in—Jerry’s beautiful firm butt until the American hunk settled into a contented sleep, dreaming happily of the fun he was going to have .at the Shaft the next evening, when Jay would be put out to stud, fucking and being fucked alternately until every sex-hungry man in the place had been fully satisfied. Jay was now the complete sex machine, and Jerry’s dreams were filled with beautiful images of his new stud performing every conceivable sexual act on command and with boundless energy and sexual reserves.