Catfish Goes to Washington 7
by Bald Hairy Man
If you are underage or if gay sex offends you, Don't read this story. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com, or bldhrymn@aol.com
Cal sucked me until I shot off. I warned him I was going to blow, but he didn't mind. He sucked until I was dry.
"You're good at that," I said.
Cal came up for air. "That was good," he said. "I've never taken the jiz before. It wasn't what I thought."
"Are you new to this?"
"I'm not exactly new to it, but I'm not that experienced either," he said. He chuckled. "Actually I haven't done it in a bed."
"You're waiting for the State Trooper to walk into the rest stop rest room?"
"How did you know that?" he asked.
"We've all been there," I said. "Relax. We've got some time."
Cal wasn't experienced, but he wasn't shy at all. He was transfixed by my cock and was either looking at it, or playing with it as we talked. I asked him about his job. "We do speciality audio and video recording," he said, "real top dollar stuff. If you want it yesterday and are made of money, we're your guys."
"I didn't know the club had that much money," I said.
"They aren't paying for it. The fat guy is," Cal said. "He has some sort a deal with the boss. He does a lot of this sort of thing. We've installed a few other set ups."
"In the club?"
"No. One was in a hotel suite and another in a private club," he answered.
"More private than the Mandrake club?"
Cal laughed. "It was a whore house," he said. "A very upscale fancy house with a lot of pretty women. They didn't look like hookers, but that's what they were. I figured given the way DeBoer looks, he needs to pay for it."
"And he wants a souvenir?"
"I guess so. We just install the systems," he explained. "We never see the product."
"It seems kind of odd to me." I said.
"When you get paid as much as we do, we don't ask questions," Cal said. "The boss told me if I asked a question I'd be fired. That's the rule. I shouldn't have told you about it."
I started sucking him again. He took the hint. There was no more shop talk. There was some sex talk.
"Are you into fucking?" he asked.
"I am."
"Do you top? Bottom?" Cal asked.
"I do both," I replied, "What about you?"
"I've never really done it," he said. "A guy tried once but he just fucked my cheeks. He didn't get into my ass. I think I'd like it."
"Top or bottom?"
"I would mind trying to do both," Cal replied, "but I have a feeling you're not the guy to be a teacher. I was thinking of a more modest cock for my maiden voyage."
"Actually I'm a good teacher, but my cock isn't for just anyone," I said. "You have to really want it."
"I want it," Cal whispered. "Really bad."
I licked a finger and began working it into his ass. "Let's just see how far I can go," I said. Cal jumped a little when I first touched his asshole, but he relaxed immediately and let me in. After a minute or two of probing I found Cal's prostate and realized he was primed and ready. It was plump and supple.
I had noticed Cal was a good sport. While he wasn't experienced, he was more than receptive and a fast learner. When I pressed his prostate, he moaned. I got two fingers in and pressed it from each side. He shivered and shook in pleasure.
"What was that?" Cal asked.
"That little organ is going to make this into a really good evening for you," I said as I pressed it again. Cal moaned. His ass lost any ability to resist. Cal was open. He also wasn't particularly tight. I worked a third finger into his pliable ass. There was no effort to keep it out.
"Do you think you could take something bigger in your ass?" I asked.
"You're awfully big," he said. He was silent for a few seconds, them he whispered, "I'd like to try."
"Do you trust me to be careful?" I asked, "It's easier if you're relaxed."
"As long as it doesn't hurt," Cal said.
"I can't promise that. Sometimes it doesn't fit exactly right on the first try," I explained. "You tell me if it's too much." Cal nodded. I had some lube and poppers available. Cal knew about popper and looked relieved when he saw I had them.
I got him on his back with his legs on my shoulders. His ass was already lubricated, but I coated my meat. I pushed it gently into his hole. I just bounced it and felt his sphincter giving way. I bounced a few more times and he opened up. It was almost as if his ass was swallowing my cock.
My cock head slid in and the shaft was right behind it. Cal tensed, but as I pushed deeper he relaxed. His balls were resting on my bush and my entire cock was deep in his ass. Cal was moaning and whimpering a little, but he was also rock hard. He hadn't needed the poppers.
I began to make several short thrusts. With each thrust, pre cum oozed from Cal's cock. My cock was perfectly at home in Cal's rectum. Cal couldn't get enough of it, so we just screwed for the next hour or so. We tried a few snorts of amyl and got real crazy. We calmed down to easy fucking. By then he was wearing out, so I sat on his cock. It was a good fit too. His cock head was just the right length to massage my prostate. I was balanced on it and as I undulated my ass I got carried away. It was good for both of us. Cal left at midnight. I wouldn't have guessed Cal could take my cock on his maiden voyage, but he must have been a natural bottom. It couldn't have been any better for him, or for me.
That night I dreamed of Mr. DeBoer. He was a busy man. If Cal was right, he was covering the gay angle at the club and the heterosexual side at the whore house. I needed my office to dig deeper into his activities. I knew nothing about DeBoer's sidekick, Hatfield and still didn't have any information on the America First foundation.
In my dream I was fucking the admiral, but he was trying to get one of the women to come over so he could screw her. I was miffed he was switch hitting. "My cock's more than enough," I complained. I didn't have a restful night.
Cal was back the next morning and they worked like dogs and got the system up and running again. I had hoped it would take more time. There would be the event the next day, and that might give me an opportunity to see the operation in action.
While I was sweeping the walk, Johnson stopped by to talk. "You sure have the place looking good," he said. "You've been busy."
"My Momma said I might not look like much, but I wasn't lazy," I said.
Johnson leaned nearer. "Are you going to be free tonight?" he asked.
"As far as I know," I replied. "Sometimes guys just drop by, but they're guys you'd like." He realized what I was saying and continued on his way. DeBoer left in a hurry after talking to Cal's boss. He looked aggravated. I was back working on the walk and overheard Cal talking with his boss.
"We break our asses getting this job done and he's still pissed," Cal said.
"Welcome to the real world," the boss said. "I've never gotten a thank you, or good job from him. He'll complain about the bill too."
"Will he pay it?" Cal asked.
"He sure as shit will," the boss replied. "If anyone found out what he was doing his fat ass would be toast."
"I don't think I'd like that toast," Cal said.
His boss laughed. "I don't know exactly what he's up to, but I could find out real easily. The fat guy knows it and he'll pay." Two days later, Cal's boss was dead. He was killed in a hit and run accident. I wasn't fooled for a minute.
Johnson wasn't able to make it that night, so I had a chance to rest and get in touch with my office. Technically the America First Foundation was a well-respected academic organization with distinguished members paid for by public-spirited multimillionaires. Behind them were large, multinational corporations engaged in defense and intelligence operations. These weren't the big names I was familiar with, but more obscure corporations.
On my early morning walk I just happened to run into Red. He was in a van two blocks from the Club. I realized I was under surveillance. He gave me a quick run down on the situation. He was investigating an outbreak of defective equipment and intelligence. Some of the new weaponry failed to operate properly. The United states had insisted on these, in spite of questions about the reliability of the weapons. Potentially more serious was the out sourcing of intelligence.
American intelligence wasn't matching NATO or British information. As the 800 pound Gorilla in the room, the United States carried the day. Red was sent to find out why the U.S. was so insistent on the false information.
"You think it blackmail that gives the false info its allure?" I asked.
"I think its part of it," Red said. "Admittedly there are some who simply have a warped sense of reality. Those we discount automatically."
"Would this group include a Mr. DeBoer?" I asked.
"You' are brighter than you look," Red replied. "Our problem was with normally levelheaded men who were pushing the bad info strongly. We were puzzled until Commander Willamette came forward. He told his British counterpart about the blackmail in outline form. Before he had a chance to fill out the details and name names, he was floating in the reflecting basin."
"We don't know how the men are seduced," he said. "Do you had some thoughts?"
"The men I've met are closeted gay, very conventional men. They move in conservative circles and I think genuinely believe in the family value shit," I said. "They are stunningly unaware of the reality of their sexual orientation and living in fear they will be caught. It's like they are living in the 1950s. They also are ambitious and driven."
"Easy marks?"
"Terrified of discovery," I said. "As far as I can tell, they are a blackmailer's dream. The cameras are set up at the club and at a whorehouse somewhere."
"That must be Cathedral Manor," Red said, "It's a small apartment house near the National Cathedral."
"Apartments rented by the hour?"
"That's the way I see it," Red said, "Congressman Deutch has an apartment there."
"I don't know of him."
"He's ultra Catholic, well to the right of the Pope and much holier than Mother Theresa. On the floor below is Ellenna DuPont. She's an upscale madam," Red explained.
"She's a DuPont?"
Red smiled. "That her nome-de-cunt. She's was born as Helena DiPaulo in Johnstown, PA. She looks good and has a stable of helpers. Deutch had a warm spot for hookers. He seems to think some pure Catholic sperm shot up their pussy will save them."
"My kind of guy," I said.
"The working girls hate him, but he shoots off fast and pays very well," Red said. "They are paid by the hour."
"Do they know their being photographed?" I asked.
"I don't think so," Red said. "My sources say they get paid extra if photographs are involved."
"Do you know their clients?"
"No, but we will soon enough," Red said.
"I need to get back to work," I said. I got back
Officially the club was closed for DeBoer's special event. Only the residents were allowed in the building. The club was filled with activity as the kitchen and housekeeping staffs got ready for meeting. I was pressed into service to do valet parking. The men all arrived in big Mercedes or SUV's. None were designed for the club's tight parking lot. I had a chance to see most of the men and talk with their drivers. The visitors were mostly American businessmen, but there were several Arabs in business dress and a few Europeans.
I got along well with one of the Arab's driver, an Indian name Ravi. He had been in the country a while and seemed to think I was a Hillbilly. I tried to explain I wasn't a hillbilly, I was just a country boy from south-west Virginia. He was unconvinced. "My customer will like you," he said.
I tried to keep an eye on Room 8. Periodically a guest of two would wonder out to the room. They would knock and someone would let them in. An hour or so later the guests would leave to be replaced by another one of the visitors. One or two would stay for fifteen or twenty minutes only.
Around 3:00 Ravi came to me and asked if I would meet his customer, "The man has never met a Hillbilly before," he said.
"I'm supposed to be working."
"Don't worry about that, the manager said it's all right," Ravi whispered. "He said you're a friendly man too. He said you might take a shower to clean up before meeting Abdul." I agreed, went to my room and then took a shower.
A tall, thin, well-dressed man entered the locker room and looked in the shower. He was bearded. He just stared. I turned off the shower and dried off, then joined him in the locker room. He didn't seem to have a plan. "My bedroom is next door," I said. I wrapped a towel around my waist and left. He followed.
Once we were in a private space he relaxed. "Are you named Jethro?" he asked.
I smiled. "Noland's the name , but I know a lot of Bubbas, Skeeters and Scooters."
"Abdul here," he said as he reached over and fondled my cock. "You are a stallion." He had an English accent.
"I'm a short stallion," I said. "Why don't we get naked and have some fun?" Abdul was ready. He stripped quickly and tried to swallow my cock in one gulp. He got about half, but he liked what he got.
He was much younger than I had thought, maybe 25, and had a hairy chest linked to his bush by a treasure trail. I only got a glimpse of his cock, but it looked fine, long and cut.
"Are you a Beverly Hillbillies fan?" I asked, "Or is it the Dukes of Hazzard?"
He looked up at me and smiled. "The Dukes," he said. "I loved them as a kid. You look like the guys at the gas station."
"I've done my stint in gas stations," I said. "You were educated in England?"
"Yes, but this is my first trip to the United States," Abdul said. " This is the first time my bodyguards let me get close to a man of your . . ."
"Rank?"
"That will do," he said. "I have never been with a man like you. You are so odd looking." he looked at mw with a worried look in his eyes. "Have I insulted you?"
"Hell no," I answered. "I'm not sure rank or looks has anything to do with cocks. The distribution of cock seems to be unrelated to wealth, or position. God has a sense of humor."
"I'm not very experienced in these things. Is your cock as big as I think it is?" he asked.
"That's what they tell me. I've met a few who were bigger, but not that many." I said as I maneuvered him to the bed. There I got to suck him. His meat was long, thin and curved, with a bloated cock head. It was just right for sucking. He came close to shooting when my tongue touched his head. He moaned. "Calm down. We've got time. You've got a hair trigger."
"This is wonderful," he moaned.