Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 04

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Blonde

Hot Sex With Some African Queens

Jo’burg. Ivan shows me around. He’s been here before. He has friends, he knows places. We drink in a small bar off Rosettenville, then stroll further towards a club called ‘The Blue Dahlia’. There’s a low marquee outside. It looks rather run-down. But once inside, with the lights low but for winking red fluorescents and spots directed onto a small stage, it begins to appear more lively. Couples are dancing to a cool jazz soundtrack on a small dance-floor adjacent to the stage, but Ivan locates a table in an alcove and signals for two more drinks. He glances at his watch impatiently.

A sinuous female figure sidles onto the stage and caresses the microphone in an intimate manner that draws and hooks my attention. She sings “That Old Devil Moon” and “Strange Fruit” – Billie Holiday songs, but charged with an aching sensitivity that sets the hairs on the nape of neck prickling. An eloquent melancholy giving voice to all the sadness and sweet romantic pain of the world, of loss, of exclusion, of being trapped as a transgressive outsider in a twilight world. Most of the smoochy dancers don’t even notice, but I do. Her glamour and sophisticated artistry has me hypnotized.

Once she’s left the stage Ivan waits a few moments more, gulps what’s left of his drink, and indicates for me to follow him. It’s only as I pass close by the dance area it dawns on me that the dancers are all same-sex. Women dancing with women. Men dancing with men. Some of them in elaborate drag. I don’t have time to gawp, Ivan leads me through a side door and into a backstage corridor. The carpet is worn, but had been rich maroon. There are posters on the wall hinting at better days of old, ‘Burlesque’, ‘Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret’.

He knocks at a dressing room door, and enters without waiting for a reply. There are three ‘girls’ inside in various stages of undress. The vamp who’d sung “Strange Fruit” with such magical intonations looks up as we enter. Her face illuminated with camp joy.

“Oh Ivan, what a joy it is to see you again!” She minces across in high heels, her hips swaying, embraces Ivan and kisses him on the lips.

Then she turns her attention on me. “Is this your latest boy, Ivan. Oh, he’s divine.”

I feel clumsy and tongue-tied. Their gender is erotically fluid, an alien glamour that takes my breath away. They cluster around me.

“This is Honeysuckle” says Ivan. The singer, coffee-dark complexion and a pale orchid in her nightblack-hair, has eyes that are hauntingly deep. Her slim figure outlined in a gold lamè creation cut low to reveal a convincing décolletage. Her voice is deep and rich. Behind her is Lola, in tight basque with blood-red ribbons and lace, suspenders and black stockings, she wears tasteful sequins and her blonde hair is piled high in elaborate coiffure. And Lucy Bluesky, in fifties-style see-through lingerie, a fetishistic baby-doll costume with cut-away nipples, and thong pulled up tight between the ample curves of her rounded bottom.

“I loved your songs” I stammer.

“Oh how cute. I do believe he’s blushing” teases Lola.

“Is he as good-bad as he should be, Ivan?” teases Honeysuckle. “Does that surly mouth of his keep your big-brute cock happy? Do you think we should take him in hand…?”

“He does look a little dowdy” complains Bluesky through scarlet pouting lips, hands on her hips. “Can we work on him, Ivan, please, please?”

Ivan laughs. “Be my guest girls. I’m certain he’ll benefit from your tender ministrations.”

I allow myself to be drawn forward. They seat me in a cosmetic chair in front of make-up mirrors, the desk-top a confusion of powders and exotic creams, then they elevate me higher, and recline the chair backwards. I’m nervous and excited. Don’t know how to react or what to expect. Their perfume is making me light-headed.

Honeysuckle is easing my T-shirt up and over my head, gently but firmly, her soft feminine touch on the bare skin of my stomach is electric. Over the weeks of my voyage I’ve come to accept that my sexuality reacts to whatever circumstances I find myself in. That it’s impossible to imagine certainty in such an imprecise area. I’d now feel amputated from an integral part of my personality if I were forced to reject one gender for an exclusivity of the other. It’s that I so much prefer to relate to people as individuals rather than gender stereotypes. These three, fussing around me, confound even those expectations.

Lola uses downy feathers to brush my forehead and cheeks, leaving a residue of aromatic powder, before applying gel eyeliner, smudging on softer lines, and massaging shadow around my eyes. While Lucy splays my fingers across the arm-rests, buffs and prepares to add sparkling nail-varnish. Ivan watches, his arms folded, with a broad smile on his face. I attempt to relax and allow them their way, even as Honeysuckle fumbles with the fastening of my shorts and begins to tug at the hem. Uncertain what to do, still bashful and just a little intimidated istanbul escort by this exotic trio, I relax, lift my hips a little to allow her. My shorts slip down my thighs.

The ‘girls’ momentarily break off their make-up tasks as my stiff cock quivers into view, slapping up against my stomach as it comes free from the material of my shorts. They’re cooing with delight and making little appreciative groans.

“Oh Ivan, he’s simply lovely” simpers Honeysuckle as she reaches out to take the head of my cock between thumb and forefinger, lifting it up so the girls can see it to better advantage. Lola claps her hands in delight. Lucy blows it an exaggerated kiss. I squirm in pleasurable embarrassment.

Honeysuckle produces a fine-comb and begins teasing my pubic hair into shape, using clippers and a small lady-razor to snip away strands. As she works I notice the dexterity of her long slim feminine fingers moving over the intimate areas of my groin. Her nails are long and lushly varnished, except for the index-finger of her right hand, where the nail is manicured short and rounded. I don’t have time to wonder further as they continue transforming my appearance, massaging lotions, using blusher and subtle tints, tweezering away stray hairs. I’m just a human doll for their cosmetic games.

Honeysuckle’s fingers are cosseting my balls, snipping away hairs into a neat bush. Her close and intimate touch is setting up inevitable reactions in my groin, her every touch stimulating radiations of pleasure. I bite my lower lip, even as Lola is painting on lip-gloss.

I part my legs slightly as she works her way down my inner thigh and around the puckered mouth of my anus. It’s at that moment I realise why the nail of her index-finger has been manicured. She’s immersed her finger in a jar of cream from the cluttered make-up table, and slides her finger into, and all the way up my bum-hole. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I raise my hips in delighted surprise, the shock of complete penetration sending shock-waves through me. Instantly my cock stands to fully vertical attention, and I lose control. Orgasm hits me with trembling pins and needles tingles of exquisite ecstasy.

The girls shriek and giggle as I groan and whimper. Lola swiftly reaches out for a cocktail glass and holds it just below my cock so that the sudden spurts of glistening semen splash and dribble into its rounded glass contours. Then her slim cool fingers encircle my cock delicately, pointing it more directly into the glass, and milking it so that more droplets of spunk ooze and drip into the milky mess already pooling there. I feel indulged, cosseted, faintly overwhelmed by it all. Breathing in short excited gasps.

“There’s a good boy” coos Honeysuckle, her finger still tightly embedded within my bum. “Such a generous gift of nectar.”

Lucy carefully spoons up stray droplets from my stomach with the crook of her finger and drips them into the glass, then gets a moist wet-wipe and carefully cleans around the sensitised head of my cock in a way that has my toes clenching, as Lola holds the champagne glass up for closer inspection, turning it this way and that in the light. She sets the glass down on the desk, rummages in the cupboard below and produces a bottle of Cape Rosé, and spills a small amount into the glass. Satisfied she swirls the blend of liquids around, tilting the glass so that the wine washes the dribbles of spunk into it.

She sips it delicately, like a connoisseur, holds it to the light rolling it between her fingers. Then passes it to Lola who also drinks.

“Hey, steady there girl” simpers Honeysuckle. “Leave some of that for the rest of us.” She slides her finger out of my bum-hole, with a slight plopping noise, then uses the spermy wet-wipe to clean her finger before reaching out to take the glass for her turn. She sips and holds the liquid in her mouth, swishing it around, before swallowing. “What a wonderful vintage. Such a delicious infusion. I could quaff it all day. Fresh spunk is so good for the vocal chords.”

The girls laugh and clap their hands as Ivan guffaws, and I just lie there, enjoying every moment of being the centre of their indulgent attentions. The post-orgasmic warmth radiating from my groin relaxes me into a mildly drunken languorous state. My cock has lost its aching hardness, but the attention it has received is conspiring in other directions. I feel the building need for a piss, provoked by the stimulating friction on my prostate. I hold back as long as I can.

“Please, I need the little girl’s room” I manage eventually, when I can ignore the urgency no longer.

“Here” says Honeysuckle. “You’d best put your shorts back on. You’d be eaten alive out there if they saw you like this. Lola will take you, it seems that Lucy is already otherwise engaged.”

As I’m guided down from the chair and Lola takes it upon herself to help pull my shorts back up, her soft fingers taking care to fold my cock and balls safely in, I glance around. Ivan is esenyurt escort standing up against the wall. Lucy is crouched in front of him on her knees, she has extracted his big cock from his pants and is sucking enthusiastically at it, her head bobbing up and down its considerable length, I can’t believe she’s taking so much of it so soon, her make-up already smudged, little dribbles of saliva trickling down her chin and dripping down in long strands. She’s easing his fat balls out as she sucks, shrugging his pants down impatient to gain better access. Momentarily, I’m jealous. That is my cock. It’s mine to suck.

But Lola is holding my hand, she pulls me away. She leads me out into the corridor, back out onto the dance-floor and across to the toilets on the far side. I follow her obediently, all will and self-identity dissolved with my sperms in the wine-glass. There’s muted music and the sound of running water inside. The toilet-room is T-shaped, three cubicles off to my right, non-too hygienic, with graffiti and glory-holes punched into the partitions, and a urinal to left and right ahead of us. As we enter a big guy is just making to leave. He stops and eyes us up and down.

Lola smiles sweetly at him.

“Lola” growls the man, making the name sound like a dirty word. “Lola, lovely Lola, we have unfinished business you and I.” He reaches out and takes hold of her arm, pushing her back and towards the one of the cubicles.

“Wait Honey, we have all the time in the world” she purrs, although obviously a little disturbed by his urgency. She flashes a quick nervous smile at me, reassuring me that she can handle the situation.

I just stand and watch. The guy is unbuckling his pants, shoving them down eagerly. I can see his bare arse and the heft of a large uncircumcised cock swaying menacingly free. Lola sees it too. Her eyes widen and glow as he pushes her through into the confined space. He moves her around, so that she’s facing the toilet pedestal, and shoves her down. She reaches out to grasp and hold the white ceramic, using it to brace herself as he pulls and tugs at the lower part of her basque. I see the sweet anal orifice winking, and her cock and balls dangling as he moves in to bugger her. I hear her delighted squeal and visualise that cock sliding into her vulnerably raised bum.

The door has partially closed behind them. I can’t see too much, my fervid imagination supplying all the details I need. He’s fucking her, that big cock pumping into her pretty bum-hole. Maybe she teased him earlier, led him on? Maybe they’ve got an agreement, maybe she made promises she now feels obliged to make good. Perhaps he’s even paid her…?

I move towards the urinals, catching my reflection in a mirror and scarce recognising myself. I pause with lingering gaze, my eyes are shadowed, my cheeks rouged and my mouth shaped with cerise lipstick. I’m a vision of perverse sexuality that courses through my body and stimulates my mind with fantastic imaginings.

There’s a sound ahead of me, one pace more. To my right a tall blonde man is standing, a beautiful cock protruding from the flies of his pants, aimed at the urinal. To my left, a boy of perhaps my own age is slumped in the corner, his legs splayed across the floor-tiles, his back up against the wall. His eyes are closed as if he’s asleep. But more immediately, his pants have been pulled down and lie in a messy puddle around his right ankle. He wears nothing else. The image his distraught situation presents takes my breath away. There are splashes and dribbles across his face, which are obviously cooling jism. There are specks and pools of cum across his hairless body too. His own boyishly small cock is drooping softly between his legs, strands of oozing liquid dripping from its tip into a glistening puddle on the floor, joining a steady drip of spunk from his puckered rosebud anus. He resembles a debauched angel.

I look up startled at the standing man. “Is he alright? Should we help him?”

“He’s fine” he says firmly without a moment’s hesitation. “He’s got exactly what every cum-slut deserves. He’s been testing his limits, or his owner has instructed him to do so, and he’s testing the limits of his obedience. You know what these faggot-fairies are like. They love all this spunk-dirty stuff. Give him time to recover and he’ll be ready for more.”

He turns around to face me, pulling at his own cock demonstratively. “In fact, I’m half-minded to take my own turn. Maybe I’ll just piss all over him. What do you think – eh, what do you think?”

Alarmed, I hold up my hand and stand between them protectively. “No, no, please, leave him alone.”

He laughs in a compelling way, that’s both derisive and authoritative. His self-assurance is intimidating. His fine-boned blonde arrogance and Aryan certainty brooking no resistance. “Well, what have we here? A little girly solidarity. I’ve got sexual jollies that demand to be expressed, if I don’t use that boy, what alternative are you offering? etiler escort C’mon, I’ve not got all day.”

I glance down at the sleeping boy. I can’t allow this stranger to abuse him further, I just can’t. And well, he has an attractive manner. “What exactly have you in mind?”

“Have you always been a dirty-minded cum-slut?” The gaze of his piercing blue eyes is so intense it seems he’s stripping me bare, piercing my soul, so that I have to look away. Even meeting his eyes is a contest of wills, which he naturally wins.

“No. I was a late starter, I guess.” Not contradicting his assessment of me, but trying to preserve a little dignity.

“But you’re making up for lost time? You like getting fucked in the ass?” he demands.

“Everyone likes sex, it’s a basic human need” I say coyly.

“That’s not what I asked, and you know it” he growls. “I said do you like to get fucked in the ass?”

I lower my eyes shyly, conceding warily “If it’s the right guy, I guess.”

“You best believe I’m the right guy” he says firmly.

“Yes sir” I flutter prettily. It must be the answer he wants.

He grunts approval, then turns to the urinal and begin to piss. Intimidated and just a little in awe of him, I stand beside him and do the same, our urine-streams washing into each other and merging. I look down into his groin with fascination and desire. He looks down at mine with a derisive sneer.

Then he zips his pants up. I’m a little confused. Just what is it he wants of me? He beckons to me, and I follow him. I sneak once last look at the slumped boy. Let him sleep. At least I’ve helped him do that. I’m led back out of the toilets onto the dance-floor, and then towards the exit. We step outside onto the street. The sun is brilliant. I shade my eyes from its brilliance. I’d almost forgotten it was still daytime, it seemed like a haven of forbidden twilight inside the club. An enclosed world with its own rules. Outside I feel suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

I hesitate. He looks back at me accusingly. I’m already scared of his reprimand.

“I have friends inside ‘The Blue Dahlia'” I protest weakly. “I can’t leave them.” I think of Lucy squatting there with Ivan’s cock in her mouth. I think of Lola bent over the toilet system with the big stranger pumping his length up her bum. I think of Honeysuckle about to perform another onstage set.

“They can wait. I’ll bring you back. No worries.” He’s reached a parking lot adjacent to the club. I follow him meekly. There a red sports car, an MG. He climbs in. I hesitate for less than a moment. What has he in mind? If he’d wanted a simple straightforward blow-job we could have done it back there in the toilets. The memory of seeing his cock makes my groin stir with anticipation. Admit it, my teeth ache to get it into my mouth. Will he drive me somewhere so I can suck him off, then return me here so I can rejoin Ivan? So I climb obediently into the passenger seat beside him, sinking into the leather upholstery, feeling it warm up against the bare skin of my back.

His name is Kurt. This is less like a mutual thing. I feel I’ve been chosen, selected by him, and I have little choice in the matter. He engages and revs the engine, then accelerates out of the lot onto the narrow street, weaving around parked vehicles and bicycles, out into the cross-town traffic. I watch the city blocks spooling by like a documentary travel-movie.

This is taking more time than I’d anticipated. But I tell myself ‘hey, relax and enjoy the trip’. He’s a good-looking guy. He’s compellingly attractive. Go with the flow. He flips the red open-top onto a fork and travels some way down a winding incline. We are beyond the city-sprawl now. The slope is densely forested with only occasional properties set back from the road. Eventually he hangs a right into the drive of what is evidently his bungalow. A secluded location.

He leads me inside. Gets me a lager. There’s a big ceiling-mounted fan lazily turning with a faint crick-crick-crick sound, doing little to provide cool. I smile at him, hoping for some kind of response. He merely nods towards the back of the house, through the lounge with its big flat-screen TV, and out onto the veranda. Below us, down a short flight of tiled steps, is a pool. This is obviously our objective.

We undress, I’m glancing across at him, to see if he’s checking me out as I lower my pants, but – disappointingly he’s not. Leaving our clothes on the loungers, we dive in. He’s athletic, his body smoothly toned and flawless. My attention irresistibly drawn to his groin. He’s shaved, which makes the full length of his impressive cock stand out. He’s uncut. And I look forward to the opportunity of sucking it. He seems quite content to swim the pool, demonstrating his agility and superb fitness. Allowing me to admire him.

Later we lie side by side on loungers, the sun glistening the moisture pearling on our bodies. Much of my make-up washed away. After a moment’s hesitation I sit up, my eyes travelling around the hillside beyond. Are there other houses out there overlooking us? Can they see what we’re doing? Then I gaze down at his body. I can hold back no longer. I lower my head into his groin. I only get to kiss the head of his cock before he shoves my head away.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32