THE BOUNCER (Part 2) By TomJon Smith
A week went by without further incident. But my dreams were full of Danny's pale, lithe body. I woke every morning with a solid erection and it took only a few swift strokes to finish off what had started in the dream.
My attraction to Danny was something unusual in as much that I normally go for big lads. I like something to get hold of, someone with a soft and warm embrace. Steve, my ex, was a lovely big lad. And making love to him was divine, snuggling into his generous tits, splashing my seed all over them, the feel of his plump lips wrapped around my knob... When I thought about him, sometimes I forgot that we weren't together any more, and then I would remember and a dark cloud would come over the memories.
Steve had left me for one of my friends and former colleagues. I met Malcolm at the gym. He'd asked me to spot for him whilst lifting some weights. He was in pretty good shape back then and had entered a few bodybuilding contests. Personally, I didn't mind the working out part of bodybuilding but fussing over every scrap of food that went into your mouth was tedious to me. We got chatting about training and swapped some tips. Soon we were going out on the pull together. Living in a small Northern city meant the gay scene was fairly small and we quickly became known as `the Muscle Brothers'. I suppose we do look similar, though I would say I was better looking. We fooled around a few times, having a bit of a kiss and a grope, but we were both tops and neither of us were willing to go down that route. We did, on occasion, take a lad home together. Those were good nights! The filling in our sandwich would leave bow legged in the morning, the poor fucker.
Mal was made redundant about six months after we first met and, established on the club scene as I was, I got him some door work.
Malcolm had bigger plans than just working the doors though, and set up his own security company, SecuriFirm, with his redundancy money. He was raking it in and always offering me a job. Eventually I caved in and became his number two in the firm, working away some weekends, filling in here and there.
And then I discovered why Mal was so keen that I took the job with him: he would know where I was so he could slip round to my place and fuck my boyfriend. When I found out I was so angry that I was going to kill Mal. But Steve begged me not to and I could never refuse him.
Danny was the first person I had looked at in a sexual way since Steve's betrayal. When he began to work at the club, I could barely look at him, and felt the stirring in my groin whenever I was near him. I just wanted to bundle him into the nearest dark corner and pump into him. But as time went on I managed to control myself and began noticing more and more things about him: they way his dark hair curled at the back of his neck; one of his eyes was slightly bluer than the other. The initial lust had turned into a full blown crush. But to then see him so mercilessly fucked by another man... I felt such jealousy. And Jan was being a prick around that time too. Occasional remarks, turning up late, and secretive glimpses at Danny. He'd known his body in ways that I could only dream of. But I had something on him, I knew about the drugs and I knew I could get him out if I could just find a way to pin the dealing on him and not stitch up Danny in the process.
I had other things to think about. I'd had to fire another doorman for not turning up for a shift. We got all of our bouncers from SecuriFirm, Mal's security company. It was an arrangement set up by the club's owner rather than by me. I was not exactly happy to have to deal with the company. The owner of the club was a rather shady Russian named Oleg Vazov. He did not spend much time at the club, leaving it in the hands of the manager. Apparently he had a lot of `businesses' on the go. Vazov would occasionally swoop in in his long fur-lined coat and leave with sacks of money. He was always accompanied by his own security, probably hired from Mal's company too. Not that he needed them. Vazov had been a boxer back in the USSR. Now in his fifties, he had maintained a solid physique. A greying beard and a thick mop of grey hair gave him the look of a bear, a bear with plenty of fight left in him.
SecuriFirm was sending in a replacement doorman to see me the next morning. Victor was a big man. His head was bald but for the thick eyebrows and a goatee beard that accentuated his double chin. His skin was brown, like dark, rich chocolate. His body was barrel like, a broad chest and the swell of belly beneath, all restrained by the white shirt that was neatly tucked into his well-cut suit trousers. The material of his trousers stretched across his buttocks invitingly.
`It says here that you have previous experience of door-work,' I said, sitting across from him at one of the club's tables.
`Yes, in Sheffield. Gets very messy in the evenings in the town centres. I have worked in bars and clubs and even for a few banks. All these protests have been good money for the likes of us.' He spoke with a Caribbean accent, its sing-song lilt very sexy to my ears.
`But you live here now?' I asked.
`Yes. Since last month.'
`Have you had to move the family here too?' I was fishing. He seemed to take the hint and said quite lightly:
`No family here. All my family are still in Jamaica.' He smiled. There was something in that smile, I thought: a recognition. Behind me I heard the tinkling of glass as Danny broke another pint glass.
`Ok Victor. We'll give you a trial for a week. Paid, of course, and we'll take it from there.' He thanked me, shook my hand, got up and walked out of the club. I watched his ass move as he walked off and out of the club.
/
A week later I had my hands all over that ass.
It had been a long night at work. A few scuffles had broken out and some punches had been thrown. Victor was not only a big bloke, he was a strong one too. One lad who was being abusive to one of the girls in the club, Victor simply picked him up under his arm and carried him outside, unceremoniously dumping him down on the pavement.
Another fight broke out just as the club was about to close. A youth went to punch Victor as he stood in front of the other lout, and Victor, quick as lightening, caught the fist in his hand and, as the shocked youth looked on, began to twist it around. The lad cried out for him to stop, giving the other bouncers a change to grab him and bundle him out on to the street.
Later on, when the club had closed and all that was left was empty bottles rolling across the dancefloor, I took Victor aside and told him he was hired on a more permanent basis.
He smiled. It was a smile that said a lot in itself, but he said `I will enjoy working here, I think. With you.'
I felt my spine tingle. His eyes were looking into mine. His big hand was touching my hand. He was leaning in... And I was looking into his big brown eyes, touching his hand, leaning in.
Somehow I got the club closed and Victor was waiting outside for me.
`Your place or mine?' I asked.
`Yours.'
/
Our hands were everywhere. I felt the strong contours of Victor's body. The thick arms, a muscled solid back, and the heavy buttocks. I traced the line of his crack through his trousers. Finally I got him on the bed. We fell down, his weight pinning me to the bed. I pulled his trousers from his big legs and found his arse snuggly shrouded in white boxers. Licking my lips, I slowly eased them down, pulling the elastic waistband.
`You like my arse?' he asked.
I placed my hands on it, and said, `Very much.' It wasn't the same texture of flesh as Steve's very wobbly arse. It felt heavier and denser, somehow a mixture of muscle and fat. Below, his large testicles huddled in the rumpled skin of his scrotum. His dick was wedged between our bodies but all I was concerned with at that moment was that beautiful arse. The kiss intensified as I cautiously eased a digit inside him. His large hands were equally busy, burying inside my fly and pulling at my thickening meat, rolling my foreskin back and forth over my purple bell end.
Wanting to taste him, I wriggled out from beneath him and made my way between his legs. Spreading his thighs wide, I parted the buttocks to look at his hole. Puckered like a kiss, I met it with my own lips and tasted his earthy flavour. He moaned as my tongue waggled its way inside, and I stabbed the tip into him. He liked that and pushed his arse back against my face in appreciation.
My hands were free to explore the rest of his body. His thighs were mountainous, trunk- like limbs, smooth and warm to the touch. My fingers delighted in the velvet of his ballsack and the promising eggs they wrapped. And beneath I sought the base of his dick.
He was already hard and leaking stickiness from the end. The base of his penis was extraordinarily thick: my fingers could not reach around it. The veined shaft tapered quickly to his flared glans. It had the pleasing shape of a horn. Eager to taste him, I patted his arse cheeks and asked him to roll over. It was a beautiful dick. Despite its thickness, it was probably only of average length, but I imagined that feeling that knob penetrate you would lull you into a false sense of security. One thrust and the rest of his length would stretch you to the extreme.
Victor held himself open for me, exposing the soft pink lining of his cunt. I spat a mouthful of warm saliva onto him and buried a finger inside again. It slid up him easily, his strong internal muscles flexing against it. The finger was joined by another and I fucked him with them, enjoying his texture.
He was very different from my ex, Steve, whose hole was incredibly tight. Every time I fucked him, it was like taking his virginity again. That was one of the things I had loved most about him: I was the only one he had been with and every time I entered him, I was reminded that his arsehole had only tasted my cock. That's what I had thought at any rate. Perhaps he had been with loads of other men before and during our relationship. Perhaps it had all been a lie.
`Put it in me, man. I want your dick up me.' Victor begged for it, his Jamaican accent thick with longing. I had been so transfixed by his beautiful arse, and finger-fucking him, I'd nearly forgotten my own throbbing erection. On my knees, I knelt behind him, letting him feel my cock against his crack. My mouth was dry so I asked him for some spittle. He spat a thick gobbet into my palm and I worked it against my dick.
Roughly, I pulled him over and onto his back.
`I want to see your face,' I explained, bending down for another kiss.
`Be gentle,' he said quietly, almost shyly. I grinned. I pulled his legs up and onto my shoulders, my palms running down the muscled legs softly.
I took my dick in hand and pushed as gently as I could against his slit. My fingers had worked him loose enough to push myself inside with one slow movement from my hips. His eyes rolled as my length stretched him.
It was bliss. His hole was welcoming, gripping me playfully as he adjusted to my thickness. For a moment I thought back to Steve: his virginal hole made me feel huge, but sometimes it felt reluctant, as if I was an intruder rather than a guest.
Victor smiled up at me, his hands clutching my arms. I rolled him back onto his shoulder blades so my head was above his and moved my legs into an almost squatting position. From here I could fuck him gently, pulling out only an inch or so, our bodies close together.
It was slow, tender sex. His internal muscles pulled on me and pushed against me. It was heaven. My thrusts were slow but firm. My nut sack remained against him as I fucked him. At one point he reached around and took my balls in his hand, tugging them as I moved inside him.
The room must have been hot because our bodies were covered in sweat despite the lingering pace of our breeding. His skin shone like polished hardwood. Beads of my sweat fell onto his chest and caught in the thick carpet of his curly chest hair. I kissed him again, letting his lips envelope me in their gentleness.
I could feel my balls tighten under me and I knew that I would blow my load if we didn't pause for a second. I pulled out of him, my dick still slick with spittle. His hole gaped open. I buried my face against it again and felt him push himself out. Looking down I saw the deep red of his rectum flowering beneath me. It was beautiful, like a rose.
`Kiss me,' he said, holding his legs in the air.
I did so, letting my tongue slide over his red creases.
My dick had never felt harder. Bloated with lust, I spat once more onto my knob and pushed against Victor's exposed rosebud, poking that beautiful bloom back inside him, feeling it envelope me again. I pulled one of his legs across his body and straddled the other so he was on his side and I had more freedom of movement. I thrust deep, prodding back into his soft, loose hole. I pulled his thigh back against me, feeling the strength in his body and how it submitted to me. He twisted his neck around so I could still bend down and kiss him. Somehow we ended up side by side. He held his legs open for me and I thrust into him, long, deep thrusts. He groaned with pleasure. I pulled him to me, my hands around his body and against his hairy chest. I kissed his thick bull neck, licked the sweat from his nape and chewed lightly on his ear. My right hand left his chest and went down to his dick. It was rigid with lust, and clear jism oozed from the head. He moaned quietly and I tugged him in time with my thrusts. Faster and I faster I fucked him, wanking him harder and harder.
And then his body tensed against me, his hole gripping my meat like a vice and his dick spurted in my hand. He cried out in his low, velvety voice and sperm flew through the air, landing on his chest and splattering against my arm. Thick and white, it caught in the curls of his black chest hair.
Feeling him jerk pushed me over the edge and I felt myself explode inside him. A final thrust, hard and deep, lodged me in his bowels. Spunk jolted through me and deep inside his red tunnel.
We kissed again, less urgently than before, our hands still stroking each other's bodies. He let me stay inside him until I softened and slowly expelled me as we drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.
/
I woke first the next morning. Victor made soft noises in his sleep. Reaching under the covers, I found his dick against his thigh. Taking him in my mouth, I could taste the remnants of cum from the previous night's session. His hand rested lightly on the back of my shaved head and after a few minutes of working him with my lips and tongue, fresh spunk spurted onto my tongue, sweet and with that strange clean fragrance.
I left him there to shower and dress and went to make breakfast. I always want a Full English after a good session. Victor, like me, had a big appetite and we polished off a packet of sausages and bacon between us.
He seemed really interested in the club. The security firm had told him that there had been a drug problem in the club. He said how much he hated drugs and how he had seen it ruin the lives of several friends back home. He asked if I'd caught any dealers in the club.
I don't know why, I hardly knew him really, but I found myself telling him my suspicions about the other bouncer, Jan. I left out what I had seen in the storage room: Danny was not at fault. He was being used by the bastard. Jan was making him do it. There had to be a way to get Jan nicked and let Danny off the hook. Talking to Victor, I resolved to myself that I would find a way.
/
The next night was a Monday and the club was closed. I'd texted Victor about meeting up but didn't get a reply. Perhaps he was playing it cool. I was feeling nervous about seeing him again. That night with him had been fantastic. Since Steve's betrayal I hadn't been serious about anyone but I really liked Victor. Maybe he would be the one to heal the wounds. But every time I thought about Danny, my heart leapt and I yearned to feel him against me, to be with him as Jan had been with him, but much more gentle, kinder, softer.
The next day, as normal, I was the first to arrive at the club. I unlocked the door and entered the empty building. I sat down at the table and began to read the paper as I usually did before checking the cameras.
Someone came through the door. I looked up and smiled: it was Victor. But he was dressed differently. A dark grey suit. It was not the kind of suit a doorman would wear. And behind him were two other people. They weren't wearing suits at all. They were in police uniform.
`Good morning Mister Jones.' The Jamaican accent was gone and a London one was in its place. The smile disappeared from my face and was replaced with confusion.
Mister Jones,' Victor continued, You are under arrest.'
TO BE CONTINUED