Rough Trade (22 page)

A hiss and groan left Ty’s lips. There was no sneer this time. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. Martin wondered, briefly, what he was thinking. Was it ever fun for him, or was it truly “just a job,” like all the whores interviewed for salacious cable documentaries said? But these musings were interrupted by what Ty had said—

You didn’t expect me to give it to
you
for
free
, did you?

—and Martin no longer cared what Ty’s thoughts were.

He pushed his finger in deeper, wiggling it around the warm, moist channel of Ty’s anus. Martin thought he felt the prostate and applied some extra pressure. A louder moan from Ty’s lips this time. His cock was finally beginning to stir.

Martin’s middle finger joined his index finger, the digits sliding deep into Ty’s asshole. Still a lot of give to those nether lips. A third finger was added, taking up the slack. Martin added a fourth, and this was Ty’s limit.

“Okay, that’s enough, dude,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

“Can’t handle it?” Martin pushed his fingers in a little deeper. This time Ty winced, sucking in his breath.

“C’mon…that’s…enough.”

Ty’s dick was completely hard now. Not quite worthy of his pendulous balls, Martin noted, but a respectably sized boner nonetheless.

“You ever been fisted, Ty?”

Fear suddenly crossed the young hustler’s face. “Look, man, that’s not what I agreed to.” Trying to sound tough, and failing miserably. He had his legs up over his head and four fingers up his butt—how threatening did he expect to be, Martin wondered.

“I might want to renegotiate our terms.” Martin chuckled. He applied a little more pressure, and Ty’s ass reluctantly swallowed another half inch.

“This…this isn’t funny.” Ty was whimpering now. “I
don’t do
that shit.”

“Looks like I have the upper hand, so to speak,” Martin said, grinning at the frightened whore. He started spreading his fingers, stretching open Ty’s sphincter and pressing against the wet, rubbery walls of his ass. “I bet you can take it.”

“No, no,
don’t
!” Ty’s voice was panicky. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes. His hard-on, however, raged on.

For one tense minute, nothing was said. Only breathing was heard, Ty’s breaths escaping with anxious squeaks; Martin’s breaths were deep and throaty, sounding like a bull about to charge.

And then Martin withdrew his fingers. Ty’s ass lips shut, slowly, like a flower closing its petals for the night. Ty let out a relieved sigh.

“I’m still going to fuck you,” Martin assured the hustler, clamping his hands down on Ty’s furry thighs.

Martin leaned in, pressing his stiff, sheathed cock against Ty’s pliant butthole. The head of his dick nuzzled the slippery opening, not quite making it inside. He had to reach down, grab the shaft of his cock, and guide it. Martin pried Ty’s sphincter open with his cockhead. The stretched muscles of the hustler’s ass ring gripped his shaft, not as tightly as Martin would prefer, but tight enough. He inched his way in, the way he would with a lover, or even a trick. Someone he cared about, if only for one night. But he didn’t care about Ty.

His cock was halfway up Ty’s ass when Martin jabbed all the way in, brutally. “Hey, easy!” Ty protested. Martin silenced those protests by bringing a hand down over Ty’s mouth, muzzling him with his palm.

Ty looked back at him, eyes wide with fear. Eyes that begged for mercy.

Martin had never felt so uncontrollably horny.
Good God,
he thought,
is this how
—

He stifled the thought with another one:
You didn’t expect me to give it to
you
for
free
, did you?

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he snarled, relishing the feel of Ty quivering beneath him.

His hands gripped the rent boy’s thighs once again, holding them steady as he rammed his cock up his chute. There was no attempt to be gentle, no regard for his partner’s enjoyment. This was raw, unrestrained fucking. The little shit would be lucky if he could still walk when it was over.

Martin drew his hips back, then thrust savagely forward, spearing Ty’s ass with his throbbing dick. Anguished cries mixed with desperate gasps in Ty’s throat each time he was stabbed by Martin’s cock. Martin’s fingernails dug into his thighs, hard, threatening to break the skin. Tears streamed out of Ty’s eyes and pre-cum streamed out of his cock, dripping onto his chest.

“C’mon, baby, take it…easy,” Ty blubbered.

This only got Martin to fuck the young hustler harder, driving his prick into Ty’s ass so hard Ty’s head was banging against the headboard, his skull making a satisfying
thud
each time it hit. The king-sized bed shook and creaked, threatening to collapse from the frenzied motion atop it. Martin’s body trembled, his muscles quivering from the ecstatic rush rising in his body. The pleasure and anger were welling up inside him, making him feel like a dam about to burst—about to burst out the swollen, purple head of his cock.

Martin looked at Ty’s face. Twisted into an expression of pain, it didn’t look so attractive anymore, and yet seeing Ty this way made Martin’s balls draw up tight. That thought he had earlier threatened to surface again:
Is this how ra
—

He suppressed it, letting an idea take its place. He grabbed Ty’s cock, which, despite the hustler’s cries and protests, remained stiff and drooling. Martin curled his fist around Ty’s rod, jerking on it in long, quick strokes. He pushed up on the rent boy’s body as he did so, forcing Ty to hoist his butt farther into the air until his body formed a backward “C,” his hard cock hovering over his face.

“This make you hot,
pussy boy?
” Martin growled, pumping Ty’s dick with his hand as he relentlessly pumped his ass. “You like it rough? Huh?
Like it rough?
”

Ty’s response was a squeaky sob.

“Gonna make you come on your own face!” Martin spit the words out. “Wanna see that pretty face of yers covered in jizz.”

There was no usual signal, no sudden shortness of breath or the usual verbal cues of “I’m so close,” “Oh, God!” or “I’m coming!” Martin was not capable—at this moment, at least—of picking up on the more subtle clues, like the sudden contraction of muscles, the pulsing of Ty’s prostate against the shaft of his cock, or his oversized nuts drawn up so tightly they practically retreated into his body. Just suddenly, before he knew it, a thick dollop of jism splattered Ty’s chin, followed by another that glazed his neck. A few more spurts landed on Ty’s chest before he was completely drained.

Martin’s own orgasm hit just as suddenly. He jerked his head back, like he’d just been punched between the shoulder blades, and let out a loud, deep roar. His skin felt tight, as if it were about to rip away so whatever beast awakened within him could break free. His load shot out his cock in forceful, hot jets. Martin sent his spewing cock one more time into the depths of Ty’s gut, with one savage thrust. He watched Ty’s face as he did this, saw that delicious wince, heard that satisfying gasp.

Is this how rapists feel?

And then it was over.

Holding the base of the condom, Martin slid his throbbing dick out of Ty’s ass. The ravaged orifice made a loud squishing sound as he withdrew his cock as sweat and lube coursed down the trough of Ty’s ass crack.

Martin staggered off the bed, his cock still hard, still covered. The tip of the condom drooped, pulled down by its heavy load. Ty immediately rolled over on his stomach, hugging one of the motel’s limp pillows. His shoulders shook. Was he crying?

“Can I have my money now,” he sniffed, sounding twelve years old.

Martin made no reply. He picked up his pants and retrieved the $92 from the front pocket. He rolled the bills tightly, and then carefully pulled the spooge-filled rubber off his softening cock. The roll of cash went into the slimy prophylactic easily. Martin tied the condom off like it was a balloon (not so easy, it being covered in lube).

“Hey, shithead: catch!”

Ty had rolled on his side just in time to be hit in the face with the money-and-cum-filled rubber. His lips tried to find some retort in a vain effort to regain control of the situation. Martin dismissed him before Ty could find the words he was searching for.

“Get your money, get your clothes, and get your filthy ass out of my sight.” Martin did not yell, but his rage remained deafening. Ty scurried off the bed and started pulling on his pants.

“I said
go
!” Martin grabbed Ty by the arm and pulled him toward the door. The hustler stumbled, his legs tangled in his jeans, which he’d only managed to pull up to his knees before being evicted by the enraged john.

“Let me finish getting dressed!” he whined.

Martin opened the door and pushed Ty out into the corridor. As Ty hastily hiked his pants up, Martin grabbed his shirt, shoes, and condom-covered money and hurled them out the door after him. The sheathed money roll skidded across the concrete floor and under the wrought iron banister on the other side, falling down to the parking lot below.

“Motherfu—”

Martin slammed the room door shut.

“Asshole!” Ty screamed from the other side before rushing down to the parking lot to retrieve his sticky payment.

Martin leaned against the cool metal door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The anger had abated. Now he felt hollow.

You didn’t expect me to give it to
you
for
free
, did you?

He trudged over to a chair in the corner of the room, the chair he’d draped his clothes on, and flopped down. On the dresser next to the chair, he noticed the hustler had left his cigarettes and lighter. Martin reached for them, taking a cigarette from the pack and lighting it without a second thought.

Sinking back in the chair, he savored the smoke from his first cigarette in six months. “Happy fucking fortieth birthday,” he said aloud, exhaling a gray cloud.

Dinner Party

Jay Starre

When I was invited to the dinner party, I had no idea I would be the main course. It was my idiot buddy Paul who got me into the mess, and in the end we shared the loot. He’s now my pimp, in a manner of speaking.

“You should be dancing at Cuties, Trent. I know you need the money, and with your body you could pick up some extra cash sucking cocks or taking it up the ass.”

Paul and I were in the gym when he blurted out that little tidbit. He was definitely an idiot. As I shushed him, I moved him away from the offended parties on the treadmills who had overheard. I could have smacked him, but then he grinned and I started laughing. He was short, blond, and cute and, yes, an idiot, but he was my friend.

“Anyway, we’re invited to this cool dinner party tomorrow night. A bunch of rich Daddies. Maybe one of them will be a publisher or an editor. You never know.”

“Okay. But don’t be selling my ass to any of them,” I cautioned, as if he would listen to me.

Seattle is full of tech millionaires, and Paul was a social climber with no scruples. He was always dragging me to parties and dinners. I imagined this was just another one of the same. I had no social life of my own, spending every waking hour trying to come up with saleable stories for my writing career. Either I was at the gym or in front of a computer. Paul dragged me out, kicking and screaming, as often as he could.

The next night we stood in the foyer of a hillside mansion overlooking Lake Washington. The sun was setting and the water was bathed in a ruby glow as lights began to come on all over the city. Large windows paraded down the front wall toward a sumptuous-looking living room and dining room beyond. The place was spectacular, and suddenly I was hungry, thinking of all the goodies rich guys had at their dinners.

“You can change in here. The guests will be arriving at any moment and we want you to be well presented when they do.”

This was from a smartly dressed and not bad-looking older dude who shook both our hands and practically pushed us into a small bathroom just off the foyer. When we were alone, I faced Paul with a frown, storm clouds in my eyes.

“What the hell is this? Well presented? Am I supposed to be dancing or some fucking thing?”

Paul was grinning, which I knew boded ill. He was also unbuttoning my shirt. “You’re not dancing, don’t worry about that! You just gotta get naked and be sort of an ornament.”

“What?” My voice went up several octaves and I was about to reach out and strangle Paul when he cut me off with a finger over my lips.

“Five hundred dollars. For one night. Of course I get twenty percent as your agent, and we have to hang around until two a.m. But it’s gonna be fun. I swear it!”

That stopped me. Five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars. That was a month’s rent. Fuck! Paul had already unbuttoned my shirt and was unzipping my fly. “That’s not all. We get tips too. Maybe we could make a grand tonight if we play it right.”

“We? We? I’m the one who’s going to be naked in front of a bunch of people.”

“So the fuck what? I’ve seen you at the baths more than once with your ass spread in one of the rooms waiting for dick. You’re a slut at heart.”