This story is dedicated to all the men who knew what I was before I did, and taught me to live the life I'd want to write about! If you enjoy reading Nifty as much as I'm enjoying telling my story, please make a donation to the website: http://donate.nifty.org/
I welcome feedback from other men, and I will respectfully respond to any and all messages. Please say hello! Humbly, Danny. mrkonigssub@gmail.com
Chapter 8
The next morning I woke up with a raging hard on. I could still feel the aftereffects of being fucked by Gino. I wanted more. I played with my asshole for a while, fingering myself while I rubbed my nipples and stroked my cock. It wasn't enough. After about twenty minutes I got up and stood at the toilet, waiting for my erection to fade so I could piss. I was so hard I couldn't pee, so I got in the shower and doused myself with cold water until my cock softened, then pissed down the drain.
I got out of the shower and, still naked, made a protein shake with warm water. The protein powder I bought was thick and gooey when mixed, and tasted like bitter milk. I liked to pretend I was drinking cum, and sometimes I would dip my fingers in the warm goop and imagine I was cleaning the load off of a cock. I went and did some curls with my dumbbells, looking at myself in the mirror as I pumped the weights, trying to blow off steam. Having a hot man's cum inside me had made me hornier than I'd ever been. I got hard again, and took in the sight of me flexing with my cock rock hard. I didn't want to shoot my own load, though. It felt too good to still have the high from last night's breeding.
I took out the envelope with the money I'd earned and counted out nine hundred dollars. That would catch me up on rent. I put the remaining one hundred on my bed, along with Mr. Dueño's card. I looked at the chain image on the back. It was like a design for a tattoo. A tattoo. I took out my old school backpack, where I kept a few important items, and dug in the pockets. I found my now-useless student ID, some receipts, my passport, and a coin. It was the brass token given to me a year ago by Mr. Comencky, with THE BROTHERHOOD stamped on it. I flipped it over and set it on the mattress next to Mr. Dueño's card. The chain illustrations were identical.
I called the hotel from last night and asked to be connected to Mr. Dueño's suite. The operator asked me to hold while he tried him. I fidgeted with the token while music played on the line. The line clicked, and the operator said, "Mr. Dueño is unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?" I told him my name was Danny, and left my number.
That afternoon I walked around, nervous, lonely, and horny. I'd paid my landlord and got some groceries. I bought a pull-up bar that fit in the doorway of my bedroom and some new gym shoes. I did a full work out at home, made dinner, and played with myself some more, but I couldn't settle.
I decided to walk to the bar. It was Sunday happy hour, and Gino often worked that shift.
When I got to Chuck's, I found out that Gino had cancelled earlier--his daughter's mother had an emergency, and he was home with his kid.
"Wanna make a few bucks?" The doorman asked.
I danced for about an hour and a half and made decent money. Thinking about being bred by Gino made my cock go hard a few times when I was dancing. I squatted down to aim my boner at the guys sitting at the bar, and played with my nipples, remembering the feeling of Gino's pro cock fucking my virgin hole. The customers loved it, and they smiled lustily and tucked bills in my waistband. Back in the stockroom, counting my tips, I realized I'd made the most I ever had. I got dressed and headed out, ready to walk back home alone. It was dark outside now.
"Hey, Danny," I heard a voice say from the parking lot. I turned, hoping to see Gino. "It's Danny, right?"
A man was leaning against his car, smoking a joint. He was young for the bar crowd, somewhere in his thirties. He had a friendly face with a sweet, dopey, smile.
"I saw you up there," he said, "you look great."
"Thanks," I said. I didn't remember seeing him, but that happened all the time. In the bar light, I could make out the customer's faces only if they were right against the rail.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't tip you. I didn't have any cash on me. The ATM was broken."
This was true. The cash machine had been down for a week.
"Yeah, everyone complains about that," I said. "Especially the dancers."
"I bet," he said, laughing. He was cute, and I liked his easy-going friendliness. "I'm Paul," he said, and held out the joint. "Here. Want some?"
I took a hit, eager to release some of the tension I was feeling. "Thanks...Paul," I said, holding in the smoke.
"I just got back from the bank down the street. Can I make it up to you?"
I exhaled and looked at him. He was handsome in a sweet way that made him seem likable. Clean cut, but not fussy. Trim black hair and kind eyes.
"Sure." I said.
We drove to his place, a hotel apartment in a nice neighborhood downtown. He told me he was a lawyer, and he was staying in town to work on a case. "My home is in San Antonio, though," he said. He turned the lights down in the room. "Danny, what do you like to do?" he asked, sitting down next to me on the sofa.
Because he'd been so honest with me, and because I had a nice buzz from the weed, I decided to be honest with him.
"I like to suck cock." I said. Since I was hoping for more action like I'd got with Gino, I added, "And get fucked."
Paul smiled, sweetly. "That's hot," he said. "I thought you were straight." He laughed, a goofy grin on his face. "And here I was, all prepared to suck your dick."
"Sorry, Paul," I said. "I can take off, if you want me to."
He put his arm around me. "It's cool, Danny" he said, sincerely. "I'm not a very good cocksucker, anyway." He patted my back, smiled, and stood up. He unzipped his pants and turned to face me. "Show me how it's done."
I made two hundred dollars that night, and took two loads from the cute young lawyer. He fed me his cum on the couch, then asked me to spend the night. We slept, his arms around me, spooning me. When the early morning sun came though the hotel curtains, he rolled me over on my stomach. He kissed the back of my neck and worked his morning hard-on into me, humping my bubble butt until he moaned and spasmed. He saw me to the door of his room, sleepy-eyed and smiling, his cock still half swollen. He gave me my money, and I took the long walk back to my apartment.
It was Monday morning, and rush hour traffic gave the streets a frantic energy that I wasn't ready for. I turned down a side street that was closed to car traffic, squeezing between the yellow signs, dodging traffic cones, to continue on the empty sidewalk. A crew of men was patching the street. A couple of hunky workers were busy shoveling asphalt. I slowed my pace so I could enjoy the sight of them, craning my neck as I passed. Then, suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. A giant, hot looking bear of a man was standing with a walkie talkie by a construction trailer. He had a thick neck and powerful arms covered in dark hair, the same deep brown as his impressive beard. I couldn't help staring at the goliath. Seeing me gawking, he clicked off his radio.
"Painting crew?" he said, suddenly, and reached for a clipboard that was hanging on the trailer door.
I was so distracted by his big, beefy body that I didn't understand what he'd said. I stepped up to him, staring.
"Are you checking in for work, kid?"
"No," I said, looking upwards to make eye contact with the mountain of a man. He gave me a hard stare that made my heart rate quicken. "No, Sir."
He continued to hold me with his eyes and said. "You shouldn't be on this street, you might get yourself in trouble." His voice sounded as powerful as his body looked.
I felt my face flush, and decided to take a risk: I looked him up and down, taking in his impressive frame, then stared him in the eyes and said, "I'd be glad to get into trouble wth you, Sir."
He smiled broadly, his teeth surrounded by his dark beard. "You've got a mouth on you, boy." He rubbed at his crotch, never taking his eyes off of me. "Let's put it to work."
With one hand on my neck, he opened the trailer door and guided me up the two steps and inside. He had to stoop to clear the door, he was so tall. Once he was in, he closed the door and put the walkie talkie on a desk littered with papers. He stood to full height and his head almost rubbed the ceiling of the trailer. He undid his work belt, buckles clanking as he released the wide woven strap, and it fell to the floor with a thud. He unzipped his pants and pushed down his boxer shorts. He pulled out an impressive looking cock, gripped it by the base and shook it up and down, making it bounce along with his enormous, hairy balls. He looked like a grizzly in a too-small cage, wagging his huge meat at me. When his cock was rock hard, he put his hand on his hips and said, "Suck my cock, faggot."
I knelt down and buried my face in his crotch. I put both hands on his shaft, and lapped at his ball sac. A deep rumble came from his chest as I sucked and licked his bear balls. He reached up and rubbed his hairy chest and played with his nipples. His head was thrown back, and his muscled neck was as wide as his head.
I had to work hard, but I manage to get both of his massive nuts in my wet mouth as I continued to stroke him.
"Fuck, boy, that's goooood," he thundered as I rolled his balls in my hot, slobbery mouth. He put his heavy paws on my head and said, "Now, take my meat, boy."
I set to work on his hard cock. He growled loudly as I pumped my head up and down on the shaft, still working his balls in my hands. I felt his nuts draw up and his thighs flex, and he began to slap at my face with his mitts. "That's a good fag," he said. "Here's your reward."
My mouth filled with hot bear milk, and I gulped at his load as he locked his hips, driving his cock into me. When the last shot was fired, he stuffed his half-hard cock back into his work pants. The walkie talkie crackled with static, and a voice came over the radio: "You done in there, boss? We got another hole to work on, out here. The massive man laughed and opened the trailer door.
"Good job, boy," he said as I stepped out into the late morning light. The street workers were leaning against their shovels, looking at us and chuckling. One of them tipped his construction hat to me.
"Get back to work, assholes!" the bear growled. He grabbed my ass, then put his utility belt around his waist and went back to his crew. I walked down the street to the sound of wolf whistles.
When I finally got back to my apartment, I wanted to make a protein drink to top off the two loads I'd been fed that morning, and check my messages. When I opened my door, my jaw dropped.
My apartment was completely empty. My mattress, my clothes, my dumbbells; everything was gone. At first I thought I'd been robbed, but who steals an old mattress and some used t-shirts and gym gear? Though I'd been late on rent before, I was now all paid up, and my landlord was cool with me when I'd given him the money yesterday morning. If I were going to get evicted, surely he would had said so then. Fortunately I was wearing my new gym shoes, and I was carrying the cash I still had from the weekend. What the fuck was going on? Even the cabinets in the cramp kitchen were empty.
When I went into my bathroom, I found the note.
Taped on the medicine cabinet mirror was a small piece of paper. It read "715 Marset Street."
An hour later I was looking at the doorbell of a very handsome house. I'd been down this street many times. Not far from campus, Marset Street was a row of large homes, some of which were used as frat houses. I'd been to a couple keg parties in the neighborhood, happy to watch hot straight boys get chummy in the front yards after a few beers, stumbling in the grass holding red Solo cups. But this house was set back and quiet feeling. The large circular drive was obscured with tall trees, and the solid-looking structure did not call attention to itself. Old money, I thought. What would they want with a loser college kid and the stuff in his shitty apartment?
Parked in the drive was a very hot looking motorcycle. I stared at it as I pressed on the doorbell. I heard the bell tolling inside. Bong. Bong. Bong. Then I heard footsteps, heavy stomping as someone walked to the door. The brass knob turned, and the oak slab swung open.
Standing in the doorway was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. He was tall and solidly built, with a rugged face, a thick mustache, and salt and pepper stubble. He was wearing black motorcycle boots, leather pants, and a plain grey t-shirt. He had a powerful looking chest, and arms with dark hair and thick veins. When he spoke, his voice was serious and warm at the same time.
"You must be Danny," he said.
It took me a moment to reply. My head was spinning from confusion, lust, fear, and wonder. The best response I could manage was a fumbling, "Yes. Yes, I'm Danny."
"Good," the regal looking man said, with an efficient nod. "You can call me Mr. Konig."