Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com
SCREW HIM
by Jardonn
How could that son of a bitch have done that to her? All she wanted was an escort to the theater. As her husband, Paul Davidson could have given up that one evening of mundane television, if for nothing else than to at least make sure she was safe. I liked Paul - I really did, but totally disagreed with him on this issue.
"What's the big deal? Just record your program and watch it later."
"No, it's not the same. It's the seventh game of the Stanley Cup."
"So? You record it tonight and watch it when you get home."
"Oh, come on Mike. You know a game like this isn't any good after it's already happened. Besides, what if it isn't over when I get home?"
'Pig-headed asshole,' I thought but didn't say. "Well, fuck it then," I did say. "I'll take her myself. Put her on the phone."
Not only did I take Suzie Davidson to see her play, we also engaged in some interesting conversation about our weekly get-togethers.
"Sorry to put you through this, Mike," she said during the first intermission.
"No problem. This neighborhood's not like it used to be. Too much riff-raff. I didn't like the thought of you walking around down here by yourself."
She was good friends with my wife, Brenda, which is how I met both Davidsons. Suzie and she were season ticket holders of these Civic Theater League productions, but a prior commitment on Brenda's part created the available seat. This night I filled that seat, despite my short attention span and disinterest in amateurish attempts to dramatize language I did not understand - Elizabethan English - Shakespeare - Ugh.
The ladies together were quite capable of defending themselves. Brenda loved to swim and did so daily at a nearby club, while in the basement of Paul and Suzie Davidson's house was workout equipment (weights and such), plus a 20 by 20 foot padded floor mat used for tumbling, aerobics and wrestling. These activities kept them fit, trim and formidable, while wrestling matches were the focus of weekly visits from Brenda and me.
"He makes me so mad sometimes I could spit," Suzie proclaimed.
"Yeah, I'll bet." I smiled, trying to smooth over the situation. "Sometimes we men can be rather thoughtless."
"That's true," she scowled. "But sometimes a man needs to have his ass kicked. Helps to remind him that he's not the hot shit he thinks he is. No offense, Mike."
"None taken. I probably need that myself every now and then."
A ringing chime, struck by a silly woman dressed in rags and drifting about the lobby, told us it was time to take our seats for another round of torture. During the second intermission, Suzie vented some more.
"Mike, I've got an idea. Would you and Brenda be interested in helping me make a point with Paul?"
"Probably," I grinned.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Probably," I laughed aloud. "Does it have to do with our next tag team match?"
"Probably."
The chime girl signaled the impending third act of pain, but mercifully for me Suzie had lost interest. "C'mon, Mike, take me home. We'll talk on the way."
Our Tuesday-night wrestling affairs were mostly for social purposes, but also because we all four loved the sport. Paul and I would converse during our stretching exercises, as would Brenda and Suzie. When ready, Brenda and I would stand off the mat at one corner, while Paul and Suzie did the same at the opposite, then the women would start. Everything was light and friendly, mostly Greco-Roman style with no punching allowed. When one woman tired, she would tag her husband and the other man would also enter, so that only men wrestled men and women wrestled women. I was slightly better than Paul, while Suzie was a bit more skilled than Brenda, but overall the abilities possessed by the four of us were mostly gender-equal. An evening's session would be best two out of three rounds, all determined by pinning or submission.
As for attire, nothing special was worn, just T-shirts, gym shorts, no shoes or socks. I wore a jock strap and assumed Paul did the same, although I never had paid much attention to what was inside his shorts before that evening.
The plan was obvious. Paul's partner would betray him. After the women had their first go and Brenda tagged me, I managed to get him into a standing headlock, followed by a hip toss to make it a supine headlock. This wore him down a bit, until I loosened the grip just enough to allow his escape. After maneuvering out of the hold he requested a tag with his partner.
"Oh, hell, Paul," she smirked. "Don't be such a wuss. Stay in there and try again."
"Cute, babe," he panted, facing her with hands on hips. "Some pal you are."
This allowed me to hook my arm beneath his pit and execute another hip toss, launching him to flip and land on his butt. Like a tiger I pounced with a knee-standing, from-behind headlock, then twisted and forced him down flat on his belly. Looking to my wife, I nodded and she spoke.
"I'm bored. Let me at him."
She entered to secure one leg into an Argentine leg lock, as she stood and lifted his appendage off the mat. Our combination put a severe curve into his spine and he howled accordingly.
"Ow! Damn it, you guys. What's going on here?"
"Brenda wanted a close-up view of your foot," I answered. "She thinks your hairy legs and feet are pretty hot."
"Well, shit," he gasped. "All she had to do was ask. This ain't the way to go about it."
Paul's face was beet red and drenched in sweat, so I released the headlock and quickly joined Brenda to double on the leg lock. He slammed his hand onto the mat in agony, as both legs were raised vertical with back cruelly arched in reverse.
"Oh, my god... you're... breaking me in two." Paul's breathing was staggered, as Brenda and I stretched both legs upward, raising his entire body off the mat but for the head, hands and forearms. "Suzie," he pleaded. "Do something... Get them... off me."
"Jesus Christ," she scorned. "You are such a pussy." She stepped onto the mat. "It's hard to believe you need me to come to your rescue." Standing with feet on either side of his curved back, she placed both hands onto his exposed belly, the T-shirt having fallen to his nipples. "Imagine, a big, strong man like you whimpering like a baby. "She rubbed the palms of her hands upon his belly and chest. "Begging for a woman to save you." She planted one knee into the small of his back, pressing forward while clutching the stretched abdominals with fingertips. "What the hell am I? Your mother?"
Each exhale of breath brought groans from our victim, coupled with pitiful pleadings. "Suzie... what the... hell are you doing? Help me... for Christ's sake."
"Oh, don't worry," she smirked. "I'll help you all right." She let go the claw and removed her knee, then positioned to kneel by his head where he could see her. "We're all going to help you, tough guy." And with that, she grabbed his shirt and ripped it past his head, stripping him to the shorts. "Ok, you two, on the count of three."
When three was heard, Brenda and I quickly released our ankle locks, allowing both feet to smack down onto the mat, but before I could execute my planned full-nelson, Paul rolled and sprang to his feet, lunged towards me and got hold of my knee. With a precision I never knew he had in him, Paul circled behind and deftly lifted my leg to send me tumbling face down. Securing me in a single Boston crab he lifted and leveraged my leg while sitting on my butt, nearly ripping the thigh from its hip socket.
Grimacing in pain, I tried to remain silent while he leveraged with all his strength. "Ok, you clowns," he threatened. "Tell me what this is about or I'll tear this leg right off of him. I swear to god I will."
I believed him and grunted to prove it. Paul's anger was evident from the merciless pressure he put on me. He had overstepped the boundaries and risked causing permanent injury.
"C'mon, Brenda," Suzie ordered. "Let's take care of this."
"Don't move an inch," Paul warned while increasing the unholy stretching on my ligaments. "Suzie, explain yourself or our good buddy Mike will be headed to the emergency room."
Both ladies stopped in their tracks, while I came to the realization that this was a serious situation. I truly believed he might cripple me for life and the blood began to boil. Channeling my rage into a strategy, I quickly planted both palms onto the mat, thrust myself towards the antagonist and spun onto my hip. Using the free leg, I placed a targeted kick with foot to the small of his back, sending him to lurch forward and release the hold. Two female wildcats pounced on him, one at the legs and one at the head, both from behind. Within seconds, Brenda and Suzie rolled him backwards towards me, as he landed on his back secured in Brenda's headlock. Still recovering, I crawled forward to pin both wrists to the mat, while Suzie grabbed hold the ankles.
"Rack him," she barked.
While Brenda released the headlock, I maneuvered my legs underneath to sit on my butt, all the while keeping his wrists pinned. I planted the right foot onto his right shoulder blade, repeated the left to left and pulled his arms straight towards me. Now Paul howled in pain, as I threatened to rip the arms from his sockets.
We let Suzie do the talking. "Ok, Brenda. He's not going anywhere. Come down here and get his ankles."
After both were transferred from Suzie's grip to Brenda's, Paul's wife stood to mock him. "I hereby order that this man be put to torture for his crimes. Stretch him."
Brenda pulled the legs one direction, while I tugged his arms the opposite. Our victim groaned with each rapid exhale, his chest and belly falling and rising at an accelerated pace. "Why... Suzie? What... have I done?"
"Oh, nothing much." She knelt to straddle his hips, then sat on the crotch, tugging the waistband of his gym shorts to expose more of the belly. "Don't worry. We're not going to hurt you." She rubbed from navel to nipples with the palms of her hands, interspersing with an occasional punch to his gut. "If we go too far, you can tell us to stop." She raised her butt off of him and commanded to us, "Stretch him tighter."
"Ow, god damn it," he moaned. "What... do you mean... too far? What... are you going to do?"
"I'm going to give you a safe word." She crawled onto his helpless body, planting both knees into the flattened belly and both hands onto his chest. "If you say this word, we'll stop what we're doing and listen to you, but you better be serious when you say it."
"Wha... what word?"
"Hamlet."
"Hamlet?"
"Yes, you should recognize it. Remember the play I wanted to see? Remember how you refused to take me?"
"Ok... I get it."
"No, but you will get it. Burn that word into your memory. Use it wisely, because if it is abused I will unleash a punishment you will never forget."
And so it began. Suzie removed herself from his prone form, ordered an increased stretching then launched herself high into the air, coming down across his chest with a devastating leg drop. Quickly, she rose to her feet and dropped a knee into his stomach, followed by a forearm smash across the chest.
Deep-toned and breathy unghs and ooghs filled the air, as Suzie came down on her helpless partner again and again. Satisfied, she inspected the prisoner. "You are quite the man, but it looks like the fight has been taken out of you."
She knelt next to his chest and glared into his tormented face. "You see, Mr. Davidson, in my torture chamber pain is not the only method used to break a man down." She reached with fingers and thumbs to secure each nipple between, delicately pinching and twisting the stretched knobs. "I know things about you that I intend to use against you."
"Oh, Jesus, Suzie," he begged. "Not that. Not now."
"Yes, my manly man. That. Now."
He raised the head to watch her merciless assault, then collapsed to the mat, turning it side to side with pitiful moans. Despite the stretching of our rack, Paul managed to arch the back, forcing his nipples into the air while fingers and thumbs pinched them into smaller and smaller circles of skin.
There was an undeniable beauty about this man, as I gazed down upon his helpless form. Somehow, seeing him pulled apart this way struck an unknown emotion, an admiration for masculine strength that went beyond the norm. There before me was every sinewed line and curve of muscle highlighted by both stretching and sweat, and as this man undulated and writhed, emitting manly groans of pretend and real agony, I became stimulated in ways unknown to me - feelings forgotten since the first days of pubescent explorations, when thoughts of any sort were entertained to satisfy newfound pleasures of masturbation. And to further solidify what I felt, Suzie upped the ante.
"In my torture chamber, all defenses are stripped. Humiliation is part of the punishment." And with that, she grabbed the waistband and pulled his shorts down to the knees, exposing a boner that sprang up and over to smack his belly.
"Oh, my god," he feigned protest. "You sick bastards."
It was a mesmerizing sight to see Suzie strip the shorts to his ankles, taking them past his feet when Brenda released her grip. Paul made no attempt to escape, instead remaining completely flat and allowing Brenda to resume her ankle holds and stretching of his body. She spread his legs further apart, then pulled with all her strength, as the man on the rack groaned and writhed with anticipation.
While we stretched, Suzie stripped - everything, then held her husband's ankles while telling Brenda to do the same.
"For your loyalty to me, I give him to you. Do with him as you please."
My naked wife knelt between the thighs of our racked man. She clutched the hardened cock with her fist, then lifted and buried it into her salivating mouth. After raising his head to confirm what he felt, Paul let out a grunting groan and collapsed the head onto the mat with eyes closed. Meanwhile, his wife began to deep-massage one of his feet, which left the other one free of her grasp. He again lifted up, peeked around my wife's dick-stroking face and then hesitated before making the decision to rebel.
With a dazzling series of quick movements, Paul launched an offensive. He put the sole of his foot onto his wife's shoulder to kick her aside, continuing the momentum with a violent twist of the body and sweeping blow with his thigh to Brenda, who tumbled over his other thigh to roll a few feet away from him. Planting both feet onto the mat, Paul sprang the lower body upwards and rolled towards me, lifting himself over and behind to clamp my neck with a forearm strangle hold.
It was a gallant effort, it truly was, but poor Paul never had a chance. Two females pounced on him like wild animals and this time it was no holds barred. Forearms and fists assaulted his back, while kicks landed on the rib cage and head, forcing him to release the death grip he held on me in order to defend himself. He managed to roll away from the ruthless females, spring to his feet and break for the door - hoping to exit the basement and escape. It was Brenda who thwarted this attempt, as she deftly lunged towards his feet and got one hand on an ankle. Paul's own momentum brought him crashing face first to the mat, at which time both ladies took a leg and raised him into a full Boston crab.
Now recovered I joined the fray, but not before matching their attire - well, almost. I ripped off my shirt and shorts to attack in my new, jock strap-only uniform. It was a long, gruesomely relentless breaking down of the poor man, with so many three-pronged configurations applied that I don't remember them all.
Paul was camel-clutched by me while both feet were lifted up from the mat by the females, putting unholy pressure on his spine. He was half-nelsoned face down while both legs were tortured with reverse ankle locks. He was lifted up and dropped across my knee, then held with his back arched over it, hands pinned to the mat by one lady, ankles pinned by another and my elbow grinding into mercilessly stretched abdominals.
And despite it all, Paul never quit fighting us. His constant defiance and struggles not only impressed me, but also energized my cock. The thought of him, the sight of him, one tortured soul suffering ungodly punishment at the hands of three, caused me to feel peculiar and stimulating admiration for this man. More than this, his form appeared to be its most beautiful when he suffered. The chiseled physique exploded in glory with each stretching, each bending of the spine, until I found myself dripping with pre-orgasmic ooze.
We left him lying spread-eagled on his back, moaning with gasps for breath. He struggled to regain the feet by lifting himself onto all-fours and raising to stand on his knees. But he wobbled, making no move as I approached from behind to secure him in a full-nelson. The body felt limp when I brought it backwards to lie on top of me. His legs never moved when I covered them with mine from the outside of his to complete the hold.
Paul Davidson's fight was over. Locked in the full-nelson, draped across my body, his chest thrust up, belly flattened down and legs securely pinned beneath mine, he waited. Stalking above him were two ravenous females, sweaty, frothing-at-the-mouth bitches, viciously plotting their next move. I almost felt sorry for him, but didn't. I felt sorry for myself because I could not get a full view of him. All I could do was peek over his shoulder, which as it turns out was the perfect angle to witness the first attack.
Each woman knelt on either side of him. Both nipples disappeared into their mouths. Lips encircled, while tongues licked. Sounds of wetness accompanied pinching and sucking of moistened lips. I caught glimpses of a transformation, as the poor man's nipples, despite their horrendous stretching, contracted, causing the tips to majestically rise and pierce the air.
"Uhhh," he moaned. "How could you do this to me? This is sick."
It was a lie. I have no idea the state of his penis when the assault began because I could not see it, but I am certain that by now it was fully charged. How do I know this? Because Paul's resistance to the full-nelson not only stopped, but reversed. First, his body relaxed, then the back arched away from me, as he thrust his mighty chest high into the air to absorb their worship. His nipples were relentlessly sucked, pinched and kissed, yet no matter how much they gave him, still he begged for more. He raised his head to join me in witnessing their merciless attack - their brutal torment. He looked left and right, gurgling deep-throated and manly grunts of ecstasy, then flexed and expanded his chest to capacity, sacrificing himself to their praise.
They gave him plenty. Countless minutes passed, until the poor man was nearly driven insane with lust. It was a relief when my wife mounted him. She straddled his hips and inserted the cock to her pussy hole, then sat there crushing him in a vaginal vise. Suzie continued the nipple attack, sucking the left while finger pinching the right. This man suffered like no other before him, as Brenda stimulated herself by using his pulsating cock head to mesmerize her velvety clit. His mighty tool longed for one, minuscule hint of friction - the missing element required to complete his impending explosion, but it was denied. Brenda sat motionless, flexing only her innards, using and abusing his manhood for her own purpose.
No man should be so cruelly punished. So strong he was, yet so helpless, his perfectly sized and shaped fuck tool taken from his control, crushed to nothingness, he cried out in unholy anguish.
"Oh, god, finish me. I can't take any more. For Christ's sake, finish me."
Evil they were. Nothing but purely evil vixens - and I loved every minute of it. I sensed Brenda's orgasm was near. I'd seen that look and heard those sounds before. She slid up her man's mighty pole and just as she slammed her body down upon his, I stretched him with all my strength. KABOOM! Both man and woman contorted and writhed as though electrical currents had been sent throughout their bodies. Masculine groans and feminine shrieks echoed from wall to wall. She relentlessly bounced upon his spurting tube of man-meat. She repeatedly slammed her pelvis against his, riding up and down the mighty cock, clamping him tight into her vaginal death-grip. Convulsions, contortions, then finally, a simultaneous collapsing of two signaled the beginning of the end.
Paul's neck strained upwards, head nestled in the palms of my pressing hands, as Suzie halted the assault of his nipples to drape her weary body across his heaving chest. Brenda leaned forward to rest her head on the back of Paul's wife, while keeping his tortured cock buried inside her still-clenching warmth.
As for Mike, I maintained the nelson even though it was no longer necessary. My victim was exhausted and motionless. In between the small of his back and middle of my belly, I felt the
squishing of my own hot come turning sticky in the jock strap. It's a mystery as to which of many emotions had caused me to spurt. Frankly, at that moment I did not care.
________________________________________
So, what was Paul's reward for such a masterful performance under extreme duress?
After untangling our bodies, Suzie directed me to roll on top of him and release the nelson. We three stood looking down, as Paul laid exhausted on his chest, relaxed and seemingly satisfied.
"Holy shit, that was one wild ride. Thanks, Suzie. Thanks everybody."
With an ear-piercing scream worthy of the Banshee, Paul's wife pounced onto his back and sat in the middle, while lifting his head with a double-handed chin lock.
"Ow, come on," he grunted through clenched teeth. "Enough already."
"Fat chance, tough guy." Suzie pulled back with all her might. "Now we'll see what you're really made of."
As her victim pounded his fists on the mat, Suzie brought us into the fray.
"Brenda, get his feet. Mike, you take the wrists. Lift him up."
She let go his chin and we raised him from the mat.
"Oh, yes, you are a strong one," she taunted, reaching underneath to run her hands along the chest and belly. Paul was suspended and quartered chest-down, body lifted about three feet while his bronco-buster wife rode the small of his back to increase the agonizing curve on an already weakened spine.
"Let's see if you're strong enough for this." She clutched both hands onto his abdomen and ground ten fingertips into the tightened muscle. "Can you take the belly claw? Are you man enough?"
Paul groaned and pitifully struggled for air. The weight of that vicious woman coupled with his suspended stretching compressed the diaphragm to torturous extremes. Worsening his agony, the clutching fingers pierced into rock-solid muscles, grinding them to a pulp, but unknown to him or us this was merely a preparation for Suzie's next assault. She released the double claw, fell to the mat and crawled beneath to lay on her back.
"Bring him to me," she gleefully requested, and we lowered the victim about a foot.
First, she put one hand onto the small of his back, then formed a fist and peppered his abdominals with the other. Short, sharp jabs pounded the flattened muscle, causing the poor man to grunt in absorbing each blow. Again and again she hammered from underneath to further tenderize his vulnerable belly.
Just then, Brenda got my attention. "Hey, Mike, look underneath."
Leaning to my side revealed an amazing sight. Our victim's penis was not dangling as I had assumed, but was fully engorged and pointing forward. Not only was he taking this horrendous punishment like a man, he was reacting to it like a he-man. Paul's partner knew exactly what she was doing.
Suzie quit punching and wrapped both arms around his curved spine. Lifting her upper torso, she buried her face into that primed belly and began licking and kissing what she had destroyed, receiving a positive response for her efforts.
"Omigod... Omigod... Omigod...," he kept repeating with each exhale, as she slavishly removed manly sweat and tasted heavenly muscle. Only when she took the powerful cock into her mouth did his verbal expressions stop. His body jolted. He lowered the head. Again, he witnessed a ruthless assault on his manhood and just as before, but in reverse direction, Paul thrust the pelvis downward to further arch his already contorted spine, then raised his head, revealing to me eyes clamped shut and lips turned upwards in a pleasured, yet painful grin.
Without fanfare, Suzie spit out the cock, hooked her legs around the outside of his and added the entire weight of her body to his stretching. She used her husband as though he were a jungle gym, slinking towards his chest, moving the hands to his shoulder blades and legs to the back of his thighs. In an instant, his hardened penis disappeared into her juicy cunt.
Two pelvises clasped together, she let go his back and allowed her shoulders to hit the mat, all the while keeping her legs wrapped tightly just below the lowest meat of his buttocks. As Paul's cock remained buried deep inside her pulsating hole, she reached up with both hands and brutally scraped the poor man's nipples. No mercy was shown to him. She ravaged the sensitive skin with sharp fingernails.
Paul's head dropped. This time, the reaction was a stark contrast to that of his previous ordeal. Although his nipples were under siege, even though his cock was clamped inside her dark hole, confined and crushed, but with no friction to finish him, he made no sounds other than his rapid breath. No protests. No moans, grunts or groans of ecstatic agony. Paul Davidson merely hung there horrifically suspended, occasionally convulsing with an uncontrollable twitch, while watching his partner's frantic assault below.
The man's nipples were scraped raw. The spine curved to a near breaking point. Female calves wrapped tightly around male thighs, clinging for dear life. Not until she was ready would he receive what was so desperately desired. One man, torturously suspended like a sagging limb; one woman, clutching onto that limb like a tree-climbing monkey, these two perfected their mid-air gymnastics, masterfully performing an acrobatic copulation.
She clasped both hands onto his shoulder blades and humped the yearning cock. With rapid thrusts and retractions up and down, she savagely fucked the shit out of this man - fucked the man up, crying with chimpanzee shrieks and howls to greet his come with her own. And through it all, the domineering but helpless gorilla-man did nothing, other than to jettison his seed deep inside her. With every muscle tensed, he remained as though in a trance - an electrically-charged, ecstatically mesmerizing coma - until she was finished, until she could no longer support the weight of her body beneath his sagging form.
She dropped to the mat with instructions. "Keep him there so I can see him."
And we did. She laid there for what seemed several minutes, just staring at the glorious torso of her defeated hero, while he helplessly hung in suspended torment.
Needing a peek myself, I leaned to the left and there saw a penis still contracting, remnants of manly seed dribbling down onto his partner's belly. We three had created a ceaseless, come-producing masterpiece. She scooped into the puddle with her hand, brought it to his mouth and let him lick her digits clean. Only then was she satisfied.
"Drop him," she ordered, while rolling from underneath. Brenda and I simultaneously let go the ankles and wrists, allowing gravity to send him crashing chest first onto the mat where he laid motionless, arms and legs spread wide, penis crushed beneath his belly.
________________________________________
Surely, this was the end of Paul. Surely to god, she was finished with him. How could the man take more punishment than what had already been handed out? Hadn't she made her point? Hadn't she made it clear that she was not to be trifled with? Apparently not, because Suzie's next move was to retrieve a bottle from one of the side walls, returning to inform of us of her diabolical plot.
"Let's grease him up."
A steady stream of baby oil flowed from her bottle, painting lines of the slickum along the middle of his back, meat of the buttocks and muscle of each thigh and calf.
"C'mon," she coaxed. "This man needs a rub down."
He got a good one - six-handed. Brenda and I joined Suzie in kneeling beside this beautifully thick mass of fit and trim masculinity. First with palms, we encompassed the skin with slimy oil, then with fingers, we dug into his taut musculature.
"Uhhh," he sighed. "Ummm," he approved.
Each of us could feel the knotted meat give way beneath our touch, as Paul relaxed those tortured muscles to absorb our deep-fingered massages. It was Suzie who invited me to do the hardest work, convincingly suggesting I straddle Paul's butt to get the best angle for working on his back. Both hands clasped onto the trapezoids and squeezed tightly. Thumbs drifted onto his deltoids. Squishing sounds were clearly audible, as I crushed the lactose out of his muscles, forcing it into his bloodstream. Starting below the atlas in his neck, I crept down either side of his spine, inch by inch with constant pressure applied by my knuckles, which triggered another groan of "mmm" from our beaten-down hero. This long, satisfying journey continued to the lowest vertebrae, just above his coccyx, then fingertips pointed directly down into muscle, as each hand separated left and right, drifting towards his side flanks.
This brought me to the butt cheeks. Fully rounded, fully muscled, with a deep ridge running the sides of each hip bone, Paul's ass was a sight to behold. I plowed into his cheeks with stiffened fingers, then switched to flattened knuckles, pressing inward and downward, mercilessly imprinting my knuckles and fingers onto every inch of his meaty butt. Oil caused his manly, dark hairs to glisten, beginning as a medium-thick matting atop each cheek and increasing to a heavy-thick blackness into the crack between them.
I had to get in there. I don't know why. Maybe it was the baby-oil sparkle of his skin and butt hairs; maybe it was the inviting lubricant applied and waiting; maybe it was the exhilaration of finally being allowed to touch this man in a serious way; but whatever the reason, my desires were proudly displayed in the form of my primed cock pointing forward from between my legs.
Glancing up, my eyes met those of his wife and she was smiling, softly whispering to me, "He knows the words."
He did not say those "time-out" words, not while I was greasing my dick with the oil on my hand, not when I pressed the head of my cock against that beautiful blackness. He did not say them when the fingers of my other hand reached in to touch him there. He did not say them when one finger slid inside his asshole.
I guided my rose-colored mushroom head through the thumb and three curved fingers of my hand, joining the inserted finger to hover just inside his ass's entry point. Still, he said nothing.
As the finger slid out, my cock slid in, carefully exploring its way into his dark hole. Paul's ass felt like a vise, but a loving and inviting clamp, wet, warm, crushing. My hands were planted to the mat on either side of him. My hips moved closer to him, waiting for him to relax and accept me. Little by little, my cock filled him, as my pelvis made contact with that thick, manly fur on that thick, muscular butt. Still, he said nothing.
Once completely inside him, I rested, lowering my upper torso to lie atop his, my stimulated and erect nipples making contact with his oil-slicked deltoids. Paul's arms were spread flat on the mat in a U beyond his head. The head was resting on his jaw's right side, and my lips touched his left, roughing themselves on the late-day growth of his sandpapery beard.
"You ok?" I whispered.
"Go ahead," he answered. "Do your worst."
My entire body shuddered at the words. My cock surged to a new strength. What a fucking man he was. Strong as hell, purely masculine, yet willing to pleasure me with his yielding rectum. And doing so while pretending to be helpless; pretending to be bound and at my mercy.
The ladies were busy oil-rubbing his legs and feet, but were they satisfied with this? No. As a way to punish and further humiliate, they each lifted one of Paul's ankles. Lowering a shin onto the back of his thighs, they tortured Paul with dual ankle locks, ruthlessly hand rubbing his hairy shins and scratching the soles of his manly feet.
Paul jolted from this unexpected assault, and in so doing clenched his ass muscles. My poor dick was momentarily crushed to the diameter of a toothpick. My poor dick longed for those muscles to clench it even harder. Paul also moaned from the torture of his feet. The pitiful sound was one mixed with agony and ecstasy, as I gently recoiled, then thrust my cock to its deepest penetration. My method? Short retractions followed by spearing pokes, both pleasurably time-consuming. I clasped both hands onto his trapezoids and dug my fingers in deep. His oil-greased skin eased my gliding to-and-fro movements, my belly along the small of his back, my nipples across his deltoids, as I gradually intensified the pace of short strokes.
"Uhhh," he further excited me. "You bastards. You sick sonsabitches."
All I could see or feel was the magnificent man loving my cock. I envisioned all that we had done to him throughout our session. I pictured the two females behind me cruelly torturing his helpless feet. The thought of him, the sight of him taking his punishment like the man - no, like the he-man caused my balls to ache. It was a pleasurable ache, an ache filled with pent-up sperm frantically looking for escape. A dramatic escalation of thrusts and retractions accompanied this ache, as I forcefully speared this man with an eagerly energized cock. His powerful muscles were put to good use and with good timing. My deepest penetration was greeted by a brutal crushing from his surrounding rectal walls, intensifying the friction that tantalized my bulging corona.
A beastly grunt and exploding exhale of air expressed my pleasurable shower of semen. The in and out strokes climaxed to a frenzied pace, triggering each spurt of spunk. Paul's lips, curved upward, told me he liked it. An exposing of his teeth told me he loved it, which motivated me to continue pumping, even though the shower had faded to a dribble. The smell and feel of our sweat, the sloppy sensation of slimy baby oil, the masculine power of our undulating, hard muscles gliding against one another took me to undefined heights of pleasure, and my cock remained strong, impaling, enduring, far surpassing any performance known to me before.
Another touch of my lips to his face was the beginning of the end. My satisfyingly-spent penis deflated. I left his beautiful hole, oozing out of his warm ass like a slow-moving, afflicted-by-cold-weather serpent.
I collapsed on top of him. I longed to remain there smothering him, listening to the squishy slickness between our hard bodies - but the wife would not allow it.
Both of Paul's ankles slammed back down to the mat, as Brenda and Suzie ended the torture of his brutalized feet.
"Time to get his other side," Suzie barked, rudely taking from us the intimacy and bliss of our gentle come-down.
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Paul was rolled over onto his back. The bottle was given to me. Suzie brought his hands together past his head and pinned his wrists to the mat beneath her knees. Brenda knelt and sat on his shins while turned towards his feet, pinning his ankles to the floor and leaving Paul stretched, at my mercy. He did not fight us.
Whatever contents remained in the bottle were sprayed onto his chest, abdomen and legs, as I knelt beside his rib cage. There was no part of Paul's body that was not saturated with the baby oil. His wife worked the goop into his arm pits, all over his hands and arms, his face, and the hair on his head. After working the grease onto Paul's thighs and knees, I slid my hands under Brenda's kindly-lifted butt to get Paul's shins, then gave the bottle to Brenda. Wet farts came from the plastic nozzle, as Brenda sprayed the last remnants of baby oil onto Paul's feet tops, working the slime in between his toes. My focus now turned towards the other end of our victim's body.
Some men have chests that pretty much look the same, regardless of the position of their arms. Not Paul's. His would explode when the arms were pulled beyond his head. The rib cage would expand in width and lateral muscles flare outward. The chest cavity would dramatically rise and nipples shrink from their stretching. The diameter of his knobs would decrease to half their norm, while the tips took that skin to lengthen themselves, forming sharp-pointed needles to penetrate the air.
Some men have abdominal cavities that don't change much in appearance when their chests are expanded. Not Paul's. His belly would flatten to a thin sliver, at least from the side view. From above, each line defining his abdominal muscles would suddenly appear, a deep ridge beginning in the pit of his stomach would continue to his navel and below, while curved tributaries framed the navel two inches on either side of it.
Paul's body, at that moment, in this stretched position, could easily have passed for one of those muscled men you see in old movies. He could have been Hercules in Chains. He could have been any one of the great male bodybuilders from those 1960's Italian-made films, and just to complete the scene, his skin glistened and glowed with highlighting oil, as though he were drenched in sweat, defiantly struggling against some form of ungodly torture.
His massage was performed with a brutal exhilaration that bordered on torture. My rigid fingertips clutched deep into his thick muscle. His pectorals were clamped with a fingered claw, then kneaded as though balls of bread dough. Flattened hands rubbed side to side, pressing down hard with all the strength I could muster. Special care was taken to make sure I savagely rubbed his pointed nipple tips, each contact made causing him to arch his back and thrust them upwards.
His dick was hard. It bounced on his belly. I took it into my hand and held it vertical, then pushed it back, straddled his hips with my knees and sat on his pelvic bone while facing him. His firm penis pressed the top of my butt crack and extended to the small of my back. I laid down on his chest, clutching his head and squishing the oil-drenched hair in my fingers.
"You strong mother fucker. Why don't you give up?" I begged him.
"Never."
"Come on, Paul. I can't bear to see them torture you this way."
"I'll never give up."
I transferred his baby oil onto me, sliding my torso back and forth atop his. My rigid cock was also greased while pressed and squished between his belly and mine. Shifting lower, I buried my face into his chest, smearing my face with the sloppy oil. My lips clamped onto his right nipple, kissing and tasting its grease, while my finger and thumb twisted his left tit.
Paul raised his head, as the wife savagely rubbed her hands into his arm pits. He growled, closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the mat. Sitting up, I scraped some oil from his stomach and reached back to grab his cock. Manual strokes lubricated it and confirmed its stiffness. Raising my hips, I targeted my ass rim with his bulging head, then slowly lowered myself onto his pole. My hands formed claws to grind into his belly, as I drifted downward, taking his cock up my ass inch by inch by inch, until my butt again made contact with his pelvic bone.
The virginity of my ass ended without a thought. Paul's belly was deep-massaged with my fingertips, with my knuckles, and with the palms of my hands. Inside me, Paul's cock was brutally crushed. I clenched him in the vise of my flexing rectum. He was writhing, contorting, arching his back. Suzie slid her hands from his arm pits to the nipples. She took each one between her fingers and thumbs and pinched. She twisted them like radio knobs, while I relentlessly squeezed his organ and punished his belly.
Paul's familiar voice once more echoed from the depths of his chest. Deep-throated, masculine growls and grunts accompanied tortured moans. We hurt him in the best way possible. One man suffering at the hands of three. This was the scenario he wanted. This is what we wanted to give him.
Suddenly, Brenda was standing to my left. She stepped over Paul's belly and straddled it, then grabbed the back of my head and thrust my face into her crotch. I dined on it. Vaginal juices seeped from her furry hole and I tasted them, with tongue, with lips. Abandoning Paul's belly, my hands drifted up to clutch her breasts, as my tongue invaded her pussy hole, licking and mesmerizing her pulsating clit.
I was jolted when I felt a mouth engulf my cock. Suzie lavishly praised my tool with her talented mouth, combining her spit with the oil to orally attack me. Her body, on hands and knees, straddled her husband, while her pussy was lowered to cover his face. All was complete. All were involved, and I continued to feast.
I vaguely remember needing to halt my munching on Brenda's pussy in order to moan my satisfied orgasm into Suzie's mouth, so apparently I was the first of us to shoot a load. Brenda nearly collapsed when my tongue caused her to spew, and after licking me dry, Suzie focused her attention on Paul, opening her vaginal walls for him with pussy-spreading fingers. Unholy shrieks signaled her satisfied explosion, which left Paul to again be the center of attention.
Suzie knew what to do and she invited Brenda to join her at the air-piercing temple that was Paul's nipples. They covered both tits with their mouths, while I ground my fingers into his belly. Slowly lifting my ass to the top of his pole, I dropped myself like an anvil, bouncing my cheeks onto his pelvis and taking his skewering cock deep inside me. I repeated the move - slowly up, crashing down, again a rise, again a fall, over and over and over, until Paul's every muscle tensed. Manly, Neanderthal grunts announced Paul's eruption. My technique did not alter. I continued to rise and crash, squeezing the hell out of his cock each time I took a seat. And just for good measure, I reached behind me, delicately took the skin of his nuts between fingers and thumbs, and then twisted the hide. Paul contorted as though enduring electro-torture, as the skin of his sensitive, emptied orbs was turned left and right.
Once satisfied these gonads were empty, I lifted off of him and set his dick free.
We pinned him - all three of us, with me sitting on his shins and holding down his knees, Brenda sitting on his belly and Suzie laying cross-ways upon his chest. Amazingly, Paul actually tried to kick out of this. I felt his knees struggle to lift up from the mat, but his effort was puny and useless against my hands pressing down on them. His actions, however, left little doubt that he was ready and willing to go for as many rounds as we wanted to take him.
It was quite some time before we finally left that mat. We must have looked like a nest of newly-hatched reptiles, writhing over and under each other in a pool of slick baby oil. We orgied. Every one of us got equal attention, three-on-one's, two-on-two's, man with man, woman with woman, man with woman, any configuration given to the imagination. It was a fuck and suck festival, lustfully intensified by human sweat, greasy oil and mutually shared techniques of pleasure.
Hell, we couldn't even control ourselves when it was clean-up time. We had planned to shower one by one - first Brenda; then me; and then we could go home, but it didn't work out that way. I interrupted Brenda's soap lathering and Paul and Suzie joined in. Soap replaced baby oil, but the results were the same. Four more orgasms trickled down the drain.
None of us learned anything from this, unless you consider the countless new methods we discovered for sucking and fucking and good old-fashioned body worship. Paul's attitude did not change. In fact, it became worse because he wanted Suzie to be angry with him when Tuesday night came around, but we finally convinced him that he could be sufficiently punished even when he had done nothing wrong. He was the designated victim, because his body was custom-made for it, and because he loved taking our abuse as much as we loved dishing it out.
My lesson, of course, was that I realized my affections for the male physique were equal to those I felt for the female. I could pleasure a man or a woman or both and be more than satisfied either way. Paul is the ideal man for me. He is my muscle-bound hero, struggling against his tormentors with a masculine defiance.
Our discipline is maintained. We continue to engage in technical wrestling matches, which lead to naked wrestling matches, which lead to three-against-one sessions of the pretend torture of Paul, which lead to anything and everything. New story lines are introduced to keep our sessions fresh. These mostly come either from simulated plots we've seen on television's pro wrestling, or sword and sandal movies we remember, or actual history, or fictional books we have read. Paul is a superb actor, contorting and flexing, while maintaining forceful erections to pleasure every hole we have to offer.
Like Suzie said, sometimes a man just needs to have his ass kicked. For Paul, that sometimes is now once a week.
The End
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