The Bouncer (Part 4) By TomJon Smith
The drive back from Oleg's mansion gave me time to reflect. Perhaps this had been a bad move. Now I was on the Russian's radar and I had no idea if he trusted me or not. Jan had been tossed aside without a moment's thought. Oleg was as ruthless as he was rampant. I didn't want to think what would happen to Jan. True, he was no friend of mine, but you did not want to be on the wrong side of men like Oleg Vazov. I felt suddenly sick that I had put a nail in his coffin just by revealing to Vazov that I knew what was going on.
My head felt fuzzy and disordered from the cocaine. As I drove, I had to come up with a plan. My mind was racing.
Maybe the police would take care of Jan. But if there was one thing I had learnt in my life, you could not trust the fuzz to do the right thing. They had their own motives.
Then suddenly it struck me. If Jan was in trouble then so was Danny. Drug-dealing, especially in a set-up as large as this, would see him go to jail. I wasn't dealing, all I had done was fail to report a crime, but I had previous form and the police had me by the balls. I'd done time before and I knew I could handle it if I really had to. But Danny... He was not built for prison. Everything sweet about him would be made sour. My stomach clenched at the thought of what would happen to him.
I was only a kid really when I got involved with the kind of people your mum wouldn't approve of. It was nothing at first, a bit of shoplifting. But it escalated. Soon it was cars. And then there was the robbery.
As luck would have it, I was not involved directly but I was at the meeting point working on one of the stolen vehicles when the boys getaway van came screeching around the corner. They'd been chased by the police but had managed to lose them. They were jubilant, punching the air. The back of the van was stuffed with booty. What I didn't know at the time was that two of the lads had sawn-off shotguns. And when I heard the sirens blare it was too late to do a runner.
I was sent down for eighteen months. Some of the boys got ten years for armed robbery. Like I said, I was lucky to have sat that one out.
Prison was a wake up call. You get lots of time to think in prison. I'd never acknowledged that I prefer lads to lasses, but it dawned on me that suppressing that part of myself had probably led to all of the other things; wanting to be macho, wanting to one of the lads. We egged each other on to worse and worse crimes.
In prison, I had three different cellmates and they were all ok guys. Mikey, the first one, was a big man and he'd first got me doing weights. He was a nice lad, a bit slow perhaps, but sweet in his own way. He had photos of Pamela Anderson by his bunk and many a night I would wake up to the squeak of his bed springs as his huge fist would pump his dick to completion.
My last cellmate, Benny, was the first guy I ever loved. I knew he'd done something bad but I never asked. We talked a lot, all night sometimes. I think I told him everything about myself in those short months. One night he crept down from the top bunk and under my blanket. I was inside him in a matter of seconds. We made love every night after that, silently and gently, holding each other afterwards. We never spoke about it.
I promised to write to him every week once I was on the outside. I never did. I don't know where he is now but I dream about him sometimes. He was the first person to make me feel whole and to make me believe that I could be a good person.
When I got out I changed my name and moved away from my old city. I wanted a fresh start. Because I was a big guy, I got work on the doors easily. The only good thing about prison is the gym. I'd worked out a bit before being sent down, but I came out twice the man. Your body is like a shield. The bigger you are, the less likely you are to have someone have a pop at you. The occasional drunk will take a swing at you when you're working but that's all part and parcel of bouncing. I hadn't intended on working the doors but you meet other people at the gym, you make friends and work finds its way to you.
In prison the gym was normally quite empty, so on coming out it was good to work out with other people. A lot of doormen work out together. It becomes a bit of a brotherhood. I suppose that was what I was looking for when I got mixed up in a bad crowd. Back then, not many questions were asked. A lot of the bouncers had less than rosy pasts. But if you did your job you were ok.
Danny would not be able to cope with prison: the way Jan had treated him was exactly what he had in store if he was sent down. I had to do something. As far as I knew, the police had no idea that anyone beyond Jan was dealing in the club. And I was going to keep it that way.
/
A day later and I stood on the doorstep, waiting. The house was large and modern: glass and steel, very different from Vazov's country pile. This place was very Mal. I felt uncomfortable even standing outside of the building.
The door opened.
Steve could not be much more different to Danny. My attraction to Danny surprised me. Slim, twinky, dark-haired and olive-skinned, he really was the opposite of curvy, blonde Steve.
Well, I was not expecting to see you today.' He was surprised but masking it with an ironic tone. Don't just stand there. Come in.'
I shuffled in awkwardly. It looked like the kind of house where you had to take your shoes off: cream carpets, thick rugs. I followed Steve through to the kitchen. Chrome, granite and glass covered every surface. It looked like a kitchen straight out of an advert.
Steve was looking good. I hadn't seen him since he had picked up his stuff from my flat. He was just as beautiful as he was then, like a grown up cherub. As he put the kettle on, I couldn't help but remember our naked bodies together. A pulse of misery washed over me.
`What can I do for you?' he said, leaning against the granite counter.
`I wanted to see Mal. We have business to discuss,' I replied, as curtly as I could.
I've missed you,' he said, stepping closer. I think about you all the time, how you used to make me laugh, how you used to make me smile.'
I knew where this was going but I felt powerless to stop it. He was touching my hand.
`You made me truly happy, I realise that now.'
`What about Mal?' I asked, gruffly.
`Mal only makes himself happy. He hardly touches me now. And when he does it's all over in the blink of an eye.'
Hearing that made me happy, knowing that I fucked this boy better than Mal knew how to. But was it a lie? Was this all a lie? What did Steve want?
`I want you to take me back. I want to be with you again, like we used to be.' His hand reached for my groin. I didn't stop him as he gently pulled open the zip. His soft lips were pressing against mine and I felt myself kissing him back. Familiar but strange, forgotten but dreamed of: his skilful mouth. His fingers crept inside my fly and encountered the stiffening cock within. Suddenly, he was on his knees and those pink, cushiony lips that were a moment ago against mine were now easing back the skin over my reddening cockhead.
How I had missed those lips! How many mornings had I woken up with this boy sucking me off! He was always hungry for cock in the early days of our relationship. I'd fucked him on trains, in the middle of the woods, in the toilets of a National Trust country house. Even in the club, in the same room I had watched Jan mercilessly fuck Danny. The thought of Danny momentarily derailed me, but as Steve's tongue, slimy with spittle, wriggled against my bell-end, it was only Steve I could think of.
His fingers unbuckled the belt of my trousers and worked loose the button, finally tugging down the boxer shorts. As he sucked on my dick, his hands rediscovered my body, the short thatch of pubic hair that I trimmed every week, the satin skin of my sack.
When I had last been with Steve my body was hard and toned, landscaped with brawn. But I had softened in the months that had passed; a fleshier layer covered my stomach and buttocks. I was more comfortable in my own skin than I had been. His hands slapped my fleshy arse cheeks and a finger, damp with his spit, burrowed between them and found my slit. As he entered me with that finger I let out a gasp. I was strictly a top but he knew how much I loved a finger pushed into me during a blowjob. He waggled it playfully as his mouth pleasured my dick. We were reliving a moment we had shared so many times before.
Holding my veiny shaft, he pushed his lips over my glistening red helmet, his tongue slurping noisily. I looked down at his face, as beautiful and cherubic as I had remembered it, his short curly hair and chubby cheeks, the dimpled chin and snub nose. It was a face I had fallen in love with as soon as I saw him.
And then I wanted to be inside him again.
He'd been a virgin when we'd met. He was shy but willing, coy but eager. Being on the chubby side, he was embarrassed by his body, but the things he was ashamed of were the things that made him beautiful. The first time we went to bed I didn't even put my dick in him. I kissed his body, sucked his beautiful tits and tongued his arsehole, entering him with my fingers, feeling his body adjust to me. The second time we went to bed he begged me to fuck him and I relented. It must have hurt when I entered him that first time but he tried not to show it and after a few uncomfortable minutes of feeling his arsehole trying to expel me, we found a rhythm and I lost myself in his tightness, exploding into his guts and burying my head in his bosom while the orgasm subsided, enjoying the warm dampness of each other's bodies.
And now I knew that someone else had been with him and felt his arsehole cling to their cock. My anger turned to sheer lust. I pulled him up from his knees and began to rip the clothes from his body. I wanted to fuck him hard, make him feel my cock replunder his anus, feel my jism spurt deep in his belly and extinguish the betrayal I had endured.
Roughly, I got him on to the couch. The flimsy material of his briefs was no match for my lustful strength and I tore them to shreds. And before me was his arse, as beautiful as I remembered it in my dreams. Each cheek was rounded and heavy. My hands roved over the silky skin, grabbing handfuls of his pliable flesh.
`Fuck me!' he begged, just as had done on that second night when I had taken his virginity.
I spat down on my dick. It was straining in its own skin, hungry to taste his arse again. Steve held his cheeks apart and I could see the wrinkle of his ring. My dick in hand, I pushed against him. The familiar tautness of his anus squeezed over my engorged head and with a vicious thrust I pushed down into his guts. He cried out but I was deaf to him this time. With brutal thrusts I fucked him like a whore, pillaging the hole that had once been mine. With a mixture of anger and lust I took him, my pelvis slapping against his cheeks, my big smooth balls smacking against him.
The tightness of him! He was as tight as the first time, perhaps tighter with the new skills he had acquired since then. He could make even the unluckiest of men feel like a stallion. He gripped me as I pulled out each time, sending divine shudders of pleasure up through my body like a lightening rod.
Wanting to feel his body against mine, I positioned him facedown on the sofa, arse on the air and I lay on top of him, my arms locking under his, my hands over his mouth as I rode him. His soft body rippled beneath me. It had been my favourite way to take him, sliding my body over his, my dick lodged deep within him, moving only millimetres, but feeling every sensation as my knob was smothered by his tight tunnel.
He mumbled ecstasies into my hand as I took him. I licked his nape, tasting the sweet, salty flavour of his sweat.
We stayed like this for some time: my arse drilling down into his tight spongy anus, my bell-end mining his crevice.
I could have spunked inside him, as I always used to. Even though his mouth was covered now, I could tell he was begging for my seed. It would be an affirmation, a reignition of our relationship.
But I didn't want that. Now I knew I could have him if I wanted him, and with my cock now impaled within him, I knew I didn't want him anymore.
I yanked myself out and told him I was going to come over his face and tits. There was disappointment in his eyes, but he rolled over nevertheless. On his knees before me, he looked up through his long eyelashes, ready for the assault. He stroked his tits, the large cherry-red nipples swollen with longing.
I stood over him, pumping my meat with my hand. I felt the orgasm swell in my loins and let it crash over my body like a wave. Holding my dick by the helmet I felt the involuntary jolts of ejaculation as semen shot out of me, thick white streaks of it. The first spurts splattered across his face, splashing his cheeks and lips and chin. Then, as the orgasm began to subside, weaker squirts landed across his chest. He was so splattered with my icing, he looked like an accident at a cake factory.
I let out a long, satisfied sigh. I hadn't come that much for a long time. Steve looked up at me. My softening cock was expelling a thick droplet of semen from it's slit. Lovingly, he pressed his lips around the head and sucked out the last of the sticky treat.
Staring down at him, my lust turned into disgust. The anger of betrayal still burned inside me. This would be the last time he would taste my spunk.
I reached for my trousers. He looked confused.
`Don't go. Let's shower. We could get something to eat maybe. Mal won't be home for hours.'
`No.' I said, tugging the trousers up and tucking my cock back inside my briefs.
`Please stay. I want you. I want to be with you.' His eyes were tearful and truthful. I could feel myself melting.
`What about Mal?'
`He's been different lately. There's something at work, something to do with the firm. He's involved with something dodgy, I know he is. He won't talk about it. He won't talk to me. I think he's going to leave me. I want you. I need you.'
And there was the truth. Steve was terrified of being on his own again. He left me because Mal offered something more exciting and he had a lot of cash to splash. Now he thought Mal was tiring of him, he wanted to come running back to me.
I looked at him, his beautiful face and body still streaked with my spunk. I'd loved him so much once but now I felt nothing. That fuck had gotten him out of my system. I pulled my shirt on and left, Steve pleading for me stay. But now I was free. Free from all the pain he had caused me, free from my own longing and free to sort out this whole mess once and for all.