## Archive-name: room-serviced

From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)

Subject: Room Serviced 1/3 (M/F, M/M)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Warning! The following is a sexually explicit story involving sex between men and women, and men and men. If you are under 18 or not interested in this kind of story, do not read it.

By Stroker Al

Jake and Marty had been looking forward to the Independent Contractor's Convention for a whole year now. Since they'd each scored so big with the women they'd picked up in a certain hotel lounge last year, they were positively salivating over the anticipation of having similar success this year. But one night, when the convention was only a mere week away, their wives tossed a major wrench into their plans.

"Jean and I decided we're going with you boys this year," Paula announced to Marty over a Friday night dinner at home. "We're sick of staying home while you two have all the fun. I called the travel agent yesterday and had her change everything to accomodate the four of us."

Marty's blue eyes widened and he nearly spat his mouthful of pot roast out on to his plate.
"Fun?" he sputtered. "Aw, baby, what fun are you talkin' about? Jake and I will be, uh . . . networking the whole weekend."
"Networking?" Paula repeated the word, raising her eyebrows incredulously.
"Yeah, you know, talkin' over new ideas with thousands of other contractors about how to stay afloat in this business. It's not much fun at all," he said.

Paula smirked at her handsome, burly husband with his twinkly blue eyes, thick dark hair and bristly mustache, and was amused, yet grateful for what a bad liar he was.
"Oh we KNOW you have fun, Marty," she replied. "Too much fun, I'll wager, judging from how you guys always behave after coming home. Last year I think it took a whole week before you were able to wipe that silly smile off your face. You didn't get that from exchanging mortar recipes with the guys!"

She left it at that and then just sat back and enjoyed listening to his clumsy, embarassed denials as she sipped her coffee. But she could have really laid into him if she'd wanted to. And it wasn't only the stories that she always heard from the other wives for weeks after these conventions that clued her in about what the boys were really up to. It was mainly Marty's oversexed condition when he returned that made her certain he'd been dipping his dick elsewhere. And he always wanted her to do something disgusting and out of the ordinary in bed. Last year some convention slut must have given him the blowjob of the century, because he was pestering her to suck his dick night after night afterwards. She had refused, of course. It was a filthy idea, and besides, who knew how many disease-ridden whores had soiled it?

Jean had reported similar, though even kinkier behavior in Jake. After last year's convention, Jean had told Paula, Jake had been begging her to let him fuck her up the ass. Imagine! Did all men in construction have such animalistic ideas, the girls wondered? Well, this year the two women had taken note of their husbands' growing anticipation of the convention throughout the past couple weeks--lots of whistling songs out in the garage, stupid grins and dreamy starings off into space--and had decided not to lie back and take it this year.

THEY were going to spend the weekend in Chicago too, they decided. That way they could have some fun theirselves AND keep an eye on their husbands as well.

That weekend, after getting the bad news from their wives, Marty and Jake had met on one of Jake's noisy construction sites to grumble about the change of plans. It was humiliating to both men, who usually wore the pants in their families, but had in these special circumstances somehow gotten caught with those pants down, and now felt their balls nestling in their wives' colorfully-nailed grips.

"How the hell'd they find out?" Jake whined, kicking dried ridges of mud aside from the buldozer tracks he and Marty walked along. He looked then more like a big, spoiled kid than the solid 230 lbs of red-haired, Irish manhood that he was.

"Some guys probably confessed to their wives. And wives talk," Marty said, his breath fogging in the wintery air. "Anyway who cares now? The problem is what are we gonna do about it? We'll have a fuckin' lousy time if we have to stick around them all our free time."
"I dunno, Marty. Jean's gonna be watching me like a hawk. I think we're screwed for this year," Jake sighed.

They walked in silence for a while before Marty spoke again.
"Ya know, Jake, maybe we aren't," he said. "There's two nights at the hotel during the convention. If we're smart, and careful, maybe we can cover for each other and each get away for one night."
"One night!" moaned Jake, stopping in his tracks. "What if we don't get lucky?"
"Oh, we'll get lucky," replied Marty. "We'll have to. We'll have more incentive! "
Jake thought it over for a few seconds, then smiled at his buddy and took a quarter out of his leather coat pocket.
"Let's toss to see who gets friday night," he said. "'Cause If Paula and Jean get wise to us, there may not BE a Saturday."

Despite having been the "winner" of the toss, Marty didn't feel much like one. He was in the lounge of the Plymouth Hotel (across the street from the Imperial, where the two couples were staying in adjoining rooms) which was right where he'd dreamed of being for weeks, but now that it was really happening, nothing was going right.

What was wrong? He'd struck up promising conversations with half a dozen women so far, but none had yielded any fruit. Why?
It was convention time again, and this lounge was Marty's citadel of unfaithfulness, where for 16 consecutive years he had routinely picked up women for the one extramarital affair he allowed himself per year. He was a big man with big needs--not all of which his wife was willing or able to take care of--but he believed in moderation. He also believed in structure and habit, and was afraid that he if he stepped outside his self-imposed guidelines for fucking around he might lose control and chase women all year around. That's why it was so important that he hook up with some babe tonight, because if he failed he'd have to wait an entire extra year for his next ilicit encounter. What a frightening prospect!

What he didn't realize was that the biggest problem he was having hooking initially interested women that night was this very apparent desperation and nervousness. His strongest appeal to women, after all (besides his devilish good looks), was his customary smoothness. His relaxed, confident manner normally put even the most ambivalently attracted woman at ease long enough for him to convince her to join him back at his room for a nitecap. But tonight he was scaring them all off with his furtive glances towards the bar clock and towards every woman walking in the door--each one of which he feared would be Paula. This behavior proved unflattering to the women he was with, and each one quickly found excuses to abandon his table.

As last call approached and Marty's chances ticked away he despaired and ordered a couple of doubles to drown his sorrows. If something didn't happen soon he was going to be reduced to paying for a whore like his wife was always accusing him of doing, when in truth he never had, if only out of pride. Damn, he'd been looking forward to a good blow job! I DESERVE it, he thought to himself, pounding on the table impotently and drunkenly.

Across the street in the Imperial, surprisingly enough, Marty's wife Paula was finally coming around to her husband's way of thinking. Marty DID deserve such pleasure, she decided, even as she remained angry at him for trying to get his satisfaction on the side. But now Paula suspected that her own fresh guilt would overtake that anger soon enough to drive her to her knees in front of her unzipped, erect husband for an oral reconciliation before the weekend was through.

She realized this the moment she looked up from between the bellboy's parted thighs and saw on his face how happy getting his cock sucked seemed to make a man, even when the cocksucker was an inept novice like her. Why on earth shouldn't her husband enjoy some of the same happiness? And why should it have to come from some overly made up slut with hoop earings or something?

The sandwich Paula had ordered from room service had long ago gotten cold, but Eric,the young man who'd delivered it was still awfully hot. How angelic he looked lying back against the pillows and headboard of her and Marty's hotel bed, his soft brown curls framing his fresh face. He'd seemed so guiless at first that she, in her loneliness and frustration at being ditched by Marty ("I dunno, Paula, he had a late committee meeting tonight," Jake had lied to her transparently), had felt perfectly safe in asking him, the only available man (now that Jake and Jean had gone to bed in the next room) a blunt question about sexuality.

As things turned out, she found she had underestimated everything but her sexual desire. She had not wanted or intended to seduce this young man, after all, but was nevertheless shocked to discover the intensity of her initial lust for revenge upon her cheating husband. Neither had she counted on such an enthusiastic response from such an innocent looking young man as the bell boy. He had reminded her of the young actor in the old TV show Growing Pains, that is until in answering her question he had given her such lengthy, graphically detailed assurances that fellatio was indeed a normal and desireable activity for a married couple--or an unmarried couple.

That's when Paula's capacity to give pleasure--and the stranger's readiness to serve as a guinea pig for her oral education-- were abruptly and nakedly exposed. That the twenty four-year old's velvet-skinned erection was somewhat more trim and compact than Marty's blemished, stout fortyish pecker probably made Paula's fellatio lesson easier. But by the time she found herself swallowing every thick, warm drop of the groaning hotel employee's spurting ejaculate without a twinge of nausea, she knew that a condition so minor as cock size wouldn't be sufficient to hinder her from repeating the act on her husband.

"Thank you, you've helped me tremendously," she later told Eric, matter-of-factly, as she ushered him out the door. "You understand that I won't be needing your services for the rest of our stay?"
"I understand completely, ma'am' " he winked, then dissapeared down the hall.

Paula watched him go until the click of the doorknob of her friends' room next door caused her to instinctively withdraw.
"Omigod! What if that was Jake!" she said suddenly to herself and stuck her head back out into the hall. She was relieved to see Jean leaning out of her door, grinning slyly.
"We'll talk tomorrow!" Jean whispered, waving. "Don't want to wake up the sleeping giant!" she added, pointing back inside her room.

Breakfast in the Imperial's morning room was unpleasant, with Marty in a fowl mood and obviously hung over, and the wives just picking at their food, nervous and impatient to get away for some shopping and heavy girl talk. Only Jake seemed rested and on top of the world, devouring his steak and eggs and cheerfully prodding Marty to snap out of it.
"Hey buddy, you didn't miss a thing last night!" he said. "The girls and I just took a little walk to see the city lights and spent the night playing cards in our room till Jean and I pooped out.
"You can have fun tonight, Marty, when I'm at MY committee meeting. Why doncha take the girls to one of those shows, huh? You know, 'Batman of the Opera' or whatever."
Marty just glared at Jake, and the girls quickly tried to change the subject. But Jake kept at Marty, to everyone's annoyance and discomfort.
"You gotta eat something, Mart," Jake prodded. "We got meetings all morning, and you're gonna croak if you don't. Hey waiter!"
"What are you, his mother?" snapped Paula. "Leave him alone!"
"He's gonna eat breakfast, I'm telling ya," Jake replied. "HEY WAITER!"
A young man in a red uniform crossing the restaurant with a telegram for another table stopped dead in his tracks. The loud call had clearly been directed at him, so he turned and stared blankly in the direction of the two couples.
Paula gripped the table cloth and Jean instantly reached out to cover her friend's clenched hand.
"That's not a waiter, you dumb ox!" Jean hissed at her husband without missing a beat. "That's a bell boy!"
"So?" shrugged Jake, "He works here, don't he? Hey you, would you bring this man here a couple of eggs over easy, some bacon and hash browns and toast?"
"I'll puke if I eat that, you son of a bitch," growled Marty.
"You're right. Make the eggs scrambled, then." called Jake to the bell boy.
"Right away, sir. I'll inform the cook." Eric said with the same polite professionalism that he had displayed to Paula last night before displaying his dick. A second later he was gone and the girls were able to relax again.
"Cute kid," said Jake, with his mouth full again. "I used to be a cute kid like that, remember, honey?"
Jean made a face at him. "You still ACT like a kid, buster, but I never would have called you CUTE."
She grabbed her purse and got up. "C'mon, Paula let's hit the stores. See you boys this evening."
Paula kissed her husband's cheek and got up to follow her friend out of the restaurant. Marty started to get up but Jake reached over and shoved him back down.
"Oh no, you ain't goin anywere yet pal, we got plenty of time. Here's your breakfast coming now, so you eat and we can talk."
"I'm tellin' ya, you shithead, I didn't get any! There's nothing to talk about!" Marty said, miserably.
The appologetic waiter set Marty's breakfast in front of him.
"Oh I think we got PLENTY to talk about, Mart" Jake said, his sunny disposition darkening for the first time that morning.

END part 1 of 3

Your e-mail reply to this message WILL be *automatically* ANONYMIZED. Please, report inappropriate use to abuse@anon.penet.fi For information (incl. non-anon reply) write to help@anon.penet.fi If you have any problems, address them to admin@anon.penet.fi Message-ID: <024356Z18121995@anon.penet.fi> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al) X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories Organization: Anonymous forwarding service Reply-To: an179397@anon.penet.fi Date: Mon, 18 Dec 1995 02:33:21 UTC Subject: Room Serviced 2/3 (M/F, M/M) Lines: 286

Warning! The following is a sexually explicit story involving sex between men and women, and men and men. If you are under 18 or not interested in this kind of story, do not read it.

By Stroker Al (part 2 of 3)

Jean sneaked another look into the large wall mirror and was once again pleased with her most interesting purchase of the day. It was the scarlet chemise she'd picked up at Victoria's Secret. The color looked good against her skin and hair and the cut flattered her breasts, particularly in their present, dangling position.

Of course once having turned to the mirror again, she couldn't resist looking farther along it to take in the image of the youthful Eric's kneeling athletic form as he thrust his erection rhythmically into her vagina from behind. It was a pity there wasn't a mirror on the far wall to capture the image of Eric's adorable little tan-delineated butt. The friendly bell boy was indeed everything Paula had said he was, although Jean had already been largely convinced of THAT just from what she had heard last night in bed through the paper-thin walls.

Not considering herself to be a particularly original or creative person, Jean borrowed the same set-up that Paula had stumbled upon to get Eric into her room and subsequently into her bed. The only difference--aside from the fact that her actions were premeditated and completely devoid of remorse--was her choices of food and the question she'd been burning to ask him.

Perversely, Jean had ordered lobster with melted butter, and a bottle of expensive champagne. And as the two of them drank and feasted on the crustacean tail, she segued into her question about her own tail. Would it be decent of her, she asked the bellboy, to give into her husband's recent demands that she let him penetrate her posterior? Would it hurt? Or would it feel good?

Eric had nothing but positive answers for her. He assured her that the ocassional ass fuck between a married or unmarried couple was not only decent but well advised to keep things happy and harmonious through sexual variety. It wouldn't hurt, at least not very much, and, if done properly, could feel terrific. Finally Eric had selflessly offered to demonstrate his technique on her, and she had graciously accepted.

Eric's method was to start with a doggy-style pussy fuck and work Jean slowly into wetness and horny receptivity. That's where Jean was now, and Eric was moving to bring her to the next stage. He dipped a finger in the left over hot butter, still being warmed by a tiny candle flame, and inserted the finger into Jean's virgin hole. He massaged the inner walls slowly and gently to relax her and open her up until two, and then gradually three of his fingers fit comfortably inside. Eventually, when the moment was right, he withdrew his fingers from her and very carefully and slowly replaced them with the warm butter-slicked head of his hard dick.

Minutes later, after patient persistance, Eric was robustly fucking Jean up the ass, and she was loving it. She played with her pussy as he thrust into her, leaving his hands to steady himself and support his careful but forceful thrusts.

Jean climaxed three or four times--as quietly as she could--before Eric finally cried out and pumped his fresh spermy semen deep into her heaving ass. Momentarily afraid they might have been overheard by her sleeping friends, Jean listened for sounds from the next room, but hearing nothing, relaxed again.

"You're insatiable," gasped Eric when he could finally speak again.
Jean laughed. "As insatiable as my friend next door who sucked your cock last night?"
Now Eric laughed, too, and blushed, but he didn't answer. Then, as he'd agreed earlier, he rose and prepared to leave imediately. He wiped his cock and fingers off with the fine cloth napkins from the tray and then started gathering and putting back on his clothes as Jean watched.

In the next room, 'the woman who had sucked his cock last night' was lying awake in bed next to her sleeping husband. Her breathing was slowing now after her masturbatory climax, and the memories of her misery and guilt were flooding back.

Marty had been in an even worse mood coming back from today's sessions than he had that morning. Obviously things hadn't gone well for him this trip, and it became increasingly clear as the evening progressed that blamed her. He sulked all the way through dinner, and left her and Jean sitting alone halfway through the show and just sat around in the lobby and smoked. But the worst came at bedtime when she attempted to cheer him up.

"You?" Marty had sneered at her, not looking nearly as surprised at her offer as he should have. "Suck my cock?"
Then he'd laughed bitterly, thought about it a minute, and finally replied, "Not tonight, Paula. I have a headache!"

Then he rolled over and fell asleep, leaving her alone and horny. She felt so lonely now. And still so horny. She listened again to the sounds from next door, of Eric putting on his clothes, getting ready to go, and she thought that if she could catch him in the hall on the way out, they could ... oh, it was impossible! Then the commotion began.

"Nice ass!" Jake said.
Jean gasped, sat up in bed and pulled the sheets up over her body instinctively, as if the man who'd surprised her were a stranger.
"Not YOUR old droopy rear, sweetheart!" Jake laughed. "I mean HIS!"
Eric had been pulling up his red trousers when Jake's voice had startled him into whirling around to face Jean's cuckolded husband as he was now

"I've gotten sort of fond of your little tush this past hour or so, since it was about all I could SEE through the KEY HOLE in the BATHROOM DOOR!" Jake continued, the affected sweetness in his voice erupting intermittently into fury. "I'm afraid I MISSED all the details of your DELICATE technique for dicking my wife's BUNG HOLE! Isn't that a shame, Jean? How'm I gonna be able to follow his performance then?"

Jean groaned and covered her head with her hands, slumping forward.

"H-h-how did you know?" stammered Eric. "I never even LOOKED at your wife until I brought her room service tonight!"

Jake grinned, put his arm around Eric's trembling shoulder and walked him, still fumbling with his undone pants, over to the wall that divided their room from Paula and Marty's.
"You wanna know how I knew? Just put your ear against this wall and TELL ME WHAT YOU HEAR!"

Nervously, Eric obeyed Jake and leaned over to listen. At first could hear nothing, but soon he could distinguish the voice of a woman, whom he quickly recognized as Paula, crying out in little nervous yelps. Just as he realized the cause of her sounds--that she could hear everything going on in the next room--there was a sudden rustle of sheets, and a much louder, male voice suddenly drowned hers out.
"YOU SUCKED HIS COCK LAST NIGHT?"
Eric's knees nearly buckled beneath him. It was not so much the words of the other cuckholded husband that terrified him that it was the tone: loud,theatrical, and on unnatural cue, and uttered with one clear purpose in mind--that they be heard clearly by the unlucky stiff whose cock the wife had sucked!

"Well," Jake asked him. "What did you hear?"

Eric stood up, shaking with fear. "N-n-n-nothing," he said finally, pathetically.

"Nothing?" Jake affected surprise. "Try listening closer," he said, taking Eric firmly by the collar with one hand, and the belt loop with his other and with a mighty heave, thrusting him forward, head down, into the wall.

Jean screamed, leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom, locking herself inside.

In the next room Paula screamed when she saw Eric's head crash through the thin plaster of the wall next to the bed. He was recognizable from his fine features, which, though exaggerated by shock and dusted in chalky white, had survived the impact unscathed. That much could not have been said for his little bell boy cap which now, crushed flat, fell to the floor in a cloud of plaster chips.

Eric, as yet unhurt, batted his longish eyelashes to clear his vison of the plastery powering that was blurring things for him. When he could finally see in front of him, He beheld a burly, dark haired and dark-complected man, standing undressed for bed in only a pair of plaid flannel boxer shorts, but clearly wide awake--on all levels! To his right, his wife cowered on the bed, watching in shame and terror.
"Oh Marty, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! " she wailed. "Please don't hurt him, it was all my fault!"

"Hurt him?" Marty looked at his wife as he calmly approached Eric. "I'm not gonna hurt him, honey. We just have some settling up to do, that's all "

As Marty approached, Eric tried to pull his head back out through the hole it had punched in the wall, but found that the plaster debris, which was flaring outward into the next room, prevented his head from passing back through without causing serious injury. His arms couldn't manoever tightly enough against the wall in the other room to clear the debris himself, so the only safe thing to do was stay put until someone else freed him.

"Well sir," began Marty, now so close that his hairy barrel chest and belly were nearly brushing up against Eric's forehead, "as a representative of this hotel I think you should know that my wife, my friends next door and I are all dissatisfied with the quality of the rooms we've rented. As you've discovered the walls are like paper. Besides the unacceptability of the high rate we've been charged for such innadequate rooms, the resulting invasion of all our privacies has lead to some personal strife in our relationships which just may just be irreconcilable. "

Marty waited and let Eric sweat for a moment. Then he said:
"Now how do you propose to remedy this situation?"

Eric didn't have to think long. "I'll cancel your bills! I'll pay them to the management myself! Everything! The room service, the phone bills, the parking, the meal tabs. Forget it all! We'll be even!" he said, and then regretted his unfortunate choice of phrasing.

"Even?" Marty said. "What you've offered is on the right track, but young man, I wouldn't exactly say we were EVEN."

"W-what else do you want?" he cried. "I'll pay for your rooms next year! You'll be welcome for free! I'll reserve them for you tomorrow!"

"Well, that's very generous of you Eric, and we'll accept those accomodations from you as well, " Marty said. " But there's something you took from me that I want back.

"W-what?" Eric asked, fearfully.

"For about 16 years I've been trying to get my wife to give me a blow job,and she has consistantly refused. Now I find out that she's given you what I've been trying to get her to give me all this time."
Marty reached down and began to rub his dick through his boxers, and Erick watched horrified as its flannel covered form thickened and grew.
"Now It seems to me that you owe me a blowjob," he said, pausing for effect before adding, "...from my wife."

As Marty expected, Eric sighed with relief, unaware that he was far from out of the woods.
"Oh please, Paula! " Eric pleaded, turning his wedged head as far toward her as he could. "Please do for your husband what you did for me! You were so good! You were terrific! Please," he paused, " for all our sakes!"
Paula looked wearily back and forth between Eric and her husband. She slowy nodded and began to rise from the bed until Marty suddenly told her to stop.
"Now wait a minute," said Marty. "SHE doesn't owe me her blow job, YOU DO!"
"Marty!" Paula cried, shocked at what she was hearing.

"But...but! How?" Eric spluttered in renewed dread. "How can I...pay the, er , debt, if it has to come from ...her?"
The pair of them, equally confused, looked at Marty.

But Marty just smiled and stroked his hardening rod through his boxers and Eric watched the fat head of his dick start to emerge through the open fly. "You're a college man, aren't ya?" He taunted. You can figure out a way. I have confidence in you! "

Eric tried to think as Marty's thick cock waved in front of his face, completely unsheathed now and bobbing under the ocassional tweaks that Marty gave it with his thick, calloused fingers.

"I can coach her through it," cried Eric, "in fact, I already did that. When she blows you, she'll have learned it from me."

"But that doesn't pay your debt, mister. You can't pay for a crime with the crime itself. You still OWE me a cocksucking." Marty said. He watched the perplexity in Eric's dusty face and decided to take pity on him.
"Shall I give you one clue?" Marty asked him. "It's a BIG one," he teased, wagging his hard-on in Eric's face.

Helpless, Eric finally said yes, weakly but audibly .

"Okay then, " replied Marty, upon which he peeled down and stepped out of his boxers. Then he pressed right up against Eric's face with his naked groin and positioned the head of his cock at the bell boy's lips.
"The clue," he said, "is that YOU are going to have to do the actual cock sucking. So get used to that idea. The only thing left for you to figure out is how to make it come from my wife."

(end part 2 of 3)

Your e-mail reply to this message WILL be *automatically* ANONYMIZED. Please, report inappropriate use to abuse@anon.penet.fi For information (incl. non-anon reply) write to help@anon.penet.fi If you have any problems, address them to admin@anon.penet.fi Message-ID: <084316Z23121995@anon.penet.fi> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al) X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories Organization: Anonymous forwarding service Reply-To: an179397@anon.penet.fi Date: Sat, 23 Dec 1995 08:35:04 UTC Subject: Room Serviced 3/3 (M/F, M/M) Lines: 304

Warning! The following is a sexually explicit story involving sex between men and women, and men and men. If you are under 18 or not interested in this kind of story, do not read it.

By Stroker Al

part 3 of 3

While Eric clenched his teeth to keep Marty's oozing dickhead out of his mouth, he knew he was defeated. Marty had all the power, and Eric knew he couldn't keep up that kind of resistance forever. It would be better to get it over with now.

"Okay," he said finally, over Marty's dickhead as it made a teasing poke inside his mouth and then was quickly withdrawn to allow him to speak "I give up. How can I make sucking your cock come from your wife?"

Marty smiled. "I'll tell you. You can complete your half-finished lesson to her in a way that she'll never forget, and that will allow her to give me excellent blow jobs in the future.

"But we DID complete the lesson," Eric said.

"No." replied Marty. "You showed her the pleasure a man gets from GETTING a blow job. But what she really needs to learn is the pleasure that she can have while GIVING one. That's what you're going to have to DEMONSTRATE for her now."
Eric went absolutely white. Not only was he going to have to suck a man's dick, he was also going to have to ENJOY it!
"Marty, damn it, what kind of a pervert are you?" Paula cried. " Let ME suck it! Leave him alone! I don't NEED any more lessons."

"Sorry baby," Marty said. "You'll get your turn soon enough. Now watch a man suck my dick who knows what he's doing!"

Paula groaned and sat back on the bed.

As humiliating as his own circumstances were, Eric couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her even now as her husband prepared to fuck his face. She'd never wanted any of this to happen, and certainly not the way it was turning out. He managed to speak one more time before Marty filled his mouth with his meat.
"It can't really come from her, mister," he said, "Unless she asks me to do it."

Paula's mouth dropped open in surprise. She gaped at the two men looking at her: the young, curly headed one whose eyes were pleading with her to give his humiliation some kind--any kind--of meaning; the other, older and more familiar face whose eyes pleaded for something bizarrely similar, yet so different-- a face she doubted she could look upon again with any pleasure unless she were somehow reconciled to it. The handsome, brown eyes and curling, mustachioed upper lip of her sometimes cruel husband were asking her for a way to exact his revenge and recover his debt that would cause her to pay the smallest possible price--a price whose smallness he wouldn't have thought possible under the circumstances until the rather generous young man (just how DEEPLY generous Marty would soon know) spoke up from his tormentor's crotch.

It struck Paula as strange that both men would benefit most from the same answer, should she be brave enough to give it, while the other answer would be of small comfort to one and almost certain ongoing misery to the other, as well as herself.

"Eric," she said finally, with both sorrow and gratitude in her eyes. "Would you please suck my husbands cock....for me?"

Eric actually smiled at her. "As you wish, Ma'am. With pleasure."
And then he opened his mouth to let Marty push his fat cock inside.
Marty's triumph was only slightly tarnished by a twinge of jealousy that he felt about what had just passed between his wife and the bell boy, and he caused him to start out a little more roughtly with Eric than he otherwise intended to. But Eric took his dick admirably no matter how Marty thrust it at him. It all seemed part of the amazing professionalism and inflappability that he had demonstrated in the breakfast room that morning.

Paula was shocked at how quickly her attitude changed about the whole situation as she watched Eric gradually assert oral control over her husband's penis. The brute stopped thrusting after a while to allow Eric's deft tongue to work its magic up and down his erect shaft and over his sensitive glans. Eric kept his eyes on Paula whenever he could spot her from behind the course equipment of her husband. Paula looked back to show him she was indeed paying attention, and learning learning, much more than she'd anticipated.

She looked up, too, and saw the pleasure spreading over her husband's face. The pleasure that moments ago she had given up hope of ever being able to look upon again without disgust. There were flashes of embarassement there too, when he noticed her watching--watching him enjoy being serviced by another man--but being a man, of course, his minor qualms were soon submerged under waves of sexual desire. He was getting his blowjob, after all, that he'd waited for and deserved.

Minutes raced by as Eric danced his mouth around Marty's dick and Paula let every move burn into her brain for later reference. Then Marty began his ascent to climax, and for a moment Paula saw that in anticipation of the coming event, Eric was losing his nerve.

The man whose breakfast he'd ordered was about to serve Eric a potent cocktail of come, as a kind of victory celebration, that the young man would have no choice but to drain to the dregs and visably savor no matter how nasty the taste, lest his pupil get the wrong idea--and her husband get violent. The number of sperm cells in the bell boy's body was about to double, thanks to Marty's impending, unsolicited donation. One slippery, wet, snakey male thing probing his oral oriface had been hard enough for Eric to take, yet it was only a spasm or two away from being joined by a couple million more!

Paula didn't want Marty to see Eric's agitation, so she moved to the edge of the bed and reached out and stroked Eric's curls and he watched her for strength as Marty cried out and whipped his hips back and forth, plunging his cock in and out of Eric's mouth. When his great,jealous, angry load of wronged husband semen spurted inside Eric's mouth , Paula bent and kissed Eric's forehead. And when Marty, finally spent, pulled his softening prick out of the bell boy's mouth, Paula rushed to soothe the young man's sore lips with her own, and in a gesture of her own generosity drank out from his mouth a good half of her husband's come which she swallowed in solidarity with him.

"How touching," smirked Marty, who was now squatting a few feet away on the carpeted floor. "Hope you lovebirds liked the taste of my jizz."

Neither Eric nor Paula said anything, but she stroked his forhead for a while as Marty headed for the bathroom.

"You really made it look fun," she whispered to Eric finally, when Marty and gone to the bathroom for a moment. "You were WONDERFUL."
"YOU'LL enjoy it, " he said. "It wasn't even all as bad for me, as a guy as, I thought it would be. I'm sure there are worse things in the world."

"Like what?" she said innocently, as she was distracted by the bitter aftertaste of her husbands semen.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, as absently. "Like....like..."

That was when he felt them drop. His pants, that is. Having never gotten them completely zipped up or snapped, they had apparently been creeping slowly down his hips throughout the harrowing twenty minutes or so he'd spent sucking Marty's cock and and just now dropped down around his ankles.

"Oh!" he said when he realized that they'd fallen. "Oh!" he said again, when he found he couldn't reach far enough to pull them back up.
"What's the matter?" Paula asked him.
"Can you help me out of here now? I need to pull up my, er, get my things together in the next room and take care of the bills and things for tomorrow. "
"Sure," said Paula. "Marty, come help me get Eric out of the wall."

Marty stood naked in the bathroom doorway, his arms folded.
"Now wait a minute honey, aren't we rushing things a bit here?"
"RUSHING?" she frowned at him. "What are you talking about? The poor guy has been stickin' out of the wall for..."

"Hey!" cried Eric, suddenly, when he felt two large hands cup the bare globes of his ass. He remembered then, to his chagrin, that he'd neglected to put on his skimpy bikini underwear while redressing. He would always wonder, later, if even such a slight barrier as his skivvies might have been enough to discourage the invading hun.
"Yes, rushing." Marty replied. "Jake still has something to settle with our friend here now."
"NO!" Paula screamed, but Marty grabbed her and pulled her towards the bathroom with him. "COME ON, HONEY" he cried out once again in that same theatrical voice that was so effective in broadcasting his intentions to someone in the next room.
"LET'S TAKE A BATH TOGETHER--LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANTED US TO DO."

"I'll scream," said Eric calmly, even as he felt big fingers applying the still warm lobster butter to his asshole. "I'll scream," he said louder, and then louder, until Marty emerged from the bathroom to pluck his boxers from the floor and stuff them into Eric's mouth.
"Jake likes to settle his deals in private." he told the now silent bell boy. "So it wouldn't be wise to draw a crowd."

Eric watched how Marty strutted back to bathroom (and to his ambivalent wife, who was still protesting even as she ran the bathwater) and thought that maybe, just maybe the man was intentionally flaunting his own, firm, muscular and--most pertainent of all--INTACT ass, as a fitting last sight for a rival whose complete deflowering was about to commence in an undoubtedly more vigorous second half.

Sadly for our bell boy, Jake's moderate aversion to sex with men, like Marty's, had been overcome by intense horniness and the desire for revenge. He left his wife out of it only because of his MUCH stronger aversion to sloppy seconds. Even so, it took him all of the twenty minute delay that Marty's revenge had taken, for Jake to decide if he really wanted to claim his due from the helpless young fucker or not. Then those little red pants of his fell down, and damned if that cute little ass didn't make Jake's dick go up, and cause the big guy to finally say to himself, "go for it.".

That was when poor Eric made the rough yet intimate acquaintence of a naturally blunt, yet massive appendage on the even more massive body of his willfully blunt would-be-pupil in the next room, who for the next half hour at least demonstrated most convincingly and aggressively that he really HAD learned nothing from Eric's finesse with his wife.

Eric, on the other hand, DID learn something from the unspared rod of his ass' first master. He discovered his prostate gland, and how that crazy, unpredictable male trigger, when struck properly, can respond independently of even the most brutal surrounding sensations. That explained, in any case, why in the middle of his excrutiating assault Eric got hard himself and splattered the wall in front of him with nearly as many copius lobbs of come as those that that Jake delivered, with his bazooka-like cock, deep inside Eric's worn-out ass.

Speaking of asses, that was all Jean found SHE could see when she finally got up enough courage to look through the bathroom keyhole. But this butt was not "nice" or "cute" like the one her husband had described. This one was big, hairy and mean and all too familiar looking as it ground and bumped in frantic motion as its owner pumped away brutally, late into the night. Jean fell asleep there on the bathroom rug shortly before the big ass stopped blocking the view and the little ass was sent on his way.

Hobbling back downstairs, Eric appeared to his coworkers in the late kitchen as if peculiarlly weighed down, though the food tray and champagne bottle he carried were empty. They couldn't see, of course, the heavy loads of two other men's sperm-packed spooge that he was also lugging, so close now to his center of gravity, yet so awkwardly in his inexperience. These burdens would take Eric some time to get a handle on.

The following year, at convention time, Paula and Jean expressed no desire to come along with their husbands for the weekend. Neither could imagine anything the boys could get mixed up in that would upset them more than they had last year, so they let them go without argument.
Without their wives around, both Marty and Jake easily scored pussy their first night out. But the excitement of past years was somehow gone. Perhaps it was because the difference between what they did in bed with the women they picked up and what they did at home now with their wives was no longer very significant.

The realization that the thrill was gone for good hit them both, individually, hard enough that, out of sheer resignation, neither man even bothered to go out the second night. They sat around in Marty's room and talked and got drunk, until at about 3 am Jake said he was hungry and asked Marty if he should order them something from room service.
'I dunno, " said Marty. "Do you wanna?"
Jake shrugged. "I dunno."
They looked at each other a while and didn't say anything.
Finally Marty said, "Yeah, I'm hungry. Why don't you order us a couple of club sandwiches"
"Okay," Jake said, picking up the phone.

Marty watched him order the food and a couple of beers.
"Oh," he said, while Jake was still on the phone, "and why don't you ask them to send ERIC up with it."
Jake smirked at him, thanked whoever he was talking to and hung up. Marty burst into raucous, odd-sounding laughter.
"He don't even work here anymore," Jake said.
Marty stopped laughing. "How do you know?"
Jake shrugged and looked down at the carpet.

"That's a damned shame," Marty said, scratching his crotch absently. "I wanted to thank him for reserving us nicer rooms this year. And I had a question I wanted to ask him."
Jake looked up at Marty and tried to read the look on his face, but wasn't sure what he was seeing.
Then Marty said, "I suppose I could ask whoever they send up the same question." He stopped scratching but didn't move his hand away. "'Course I might not get the same answer from someone else. But I don't suppose It would hurt to ask."
Jake dropped down into the chair by the tv and just kind of looked straight ahead for a while. "No, It probably wouldn't hurt," he finally agreed. He looked down at last at the bulge that his own hard-on was making in his crotch.
"At least not for very long," Jake added, casually moving one of his big hands down into his lap, as Marty chuckled--ostensibly at his friend's unexpected witicism.
By the time the food arrived, both men had enormous appetites.

The End

Look for more stories by Stroker Al

Your e-mail reply to this message WILL be *automatically* ANONYMIZED. Please, report inappropriate use to abuse@anon.penet.fi For information (incl. non-anon reply) write to help@anon.penet.fi If you have any problems, address them to admin@anon.penet.fi

Last modified (12/24/96 14:19:28) by Eli-the-Bearded.

Go back to the main erotica page.