Thirty One Days - Chapter 27

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Author: Ronan Jackson Jefferson
Category: Erotic Stories
Published: Nov 26, 2014
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Short Quote From the Story: This is the 27th chapter of the sexy story Thirty One Days, a challenge that involves sex, thirty-one women, and will take 31 days.

"I didn't do anything to you," Stevie said. "At least, nothing you didn't want done."

What was he saying?

I didn't want any of it done. Any of it.

Stevie continued.

"I know you feel all goofy inside, because you are a straight guy. But man, you were begging for it."

I moved off the wall. I was ready to hit the prick.

He stalled me with his next words.

"You watched the movie right? Did you ask me for it? Did you ask me to fuck you?"

I cringed as his words rang around the small room. These were words in a conversation two guys should never be having. I sat back against the wall and sipped on my drink. It was half gone. The confusion thing was back. With numbness in my mouth and tongue. I felt a need to talk to this kid. To communicate with him. I was feeling a strange sense ofnot sure what the word was.

Something was working for this scrawny little bitch. He had the stones and skills to use and abuse me. Kudos to him for taking on the beast, and winning.

I guess the word might be, respect.


What an idiot I was.

Beat this punk down, and leave.

Stop with the pointless interrogation and discussion.

This wasn't the fucking United Nations.

It was hard to think clearly. Harder now, being back in the belly of the sick beast. I could sense the booze and drugs flowing all around me. The smells of pot and poppers, and incense and sweat and cum. The rutting, the coupling, the heated hard passion of men having sex with men. Battling and struggling and ascending to domination. Some men in triumph, some men in tears, wishing they were never born. Some men begging for the abuse, begging to be destroyed, confirming their own worthless existence on the planet. The thought processes we grew up with in the safe, daytime world were severely altered when you stepped into the underground.

I watched the video how many times?

'Fuck me please' will be forever etched in my mind.

I asked for it.

I knew Stevie was speaking the truth. I also knew he baited me into speaking those exact words. Choreographed me. Set me up. Hammered my brain. Then my body. Then his lips on my cock, bringing me to full surrender.

"Davey, we were in your room. You were all over me. What am I supposed to do? You were so horny. You made me horny. I didn't care who fucked who. I wanted you to fuck me. But dude, you begged me for it. It was awesome. I came hard, a freight train running hot. Holy shit, so did you! I have never seen a guy cum like you did. Never. How could that happen if you weren't totally into it? Totally into me? Anyway, the best I could get from you was to eat up your delicious cum."

Stevie ran his tongue over his thick bottom lip.

Replaying the moment?

Obviously, a good moment for him.

I provided the moment?

The tingling was back.

I was nibbling on the orange slice and chewing on an ice cube, flitting with a strange sense of euphoria. Then flitting back to this dirty little fag room. I was trying to find a lie in what Stevie was saying. Damn sakes. I couldn't. Everything he said was true. With video evidence to back it up.

Case closed, dick brain.

"Okay," I said. "Then what gives with the punching? The choking? Kind of severe, no?"

"Yeah, I apologize. When I start into it, I lose all control. I completely let go. Let it rip. An animal. My brain shuts off and nature or survival or something primitive takes over. But fuck. It works. Remember, this place is where people come to be abused. Or dominated. Or to do the opposite. You can't come in here without expecting it. That's the appeal of the place, why it's so busy. All the time. It never closes here. Never. There are guys who come in here, fuck, they will let you do things to them you couldn't imagine."

Stevie was a good talker. He made sense. He spoke truths. Disgusting truths.

The room seemed to be changing in brightness. Lighter, then darker. The mirrors were definitely playing havoc with the light. The mad, multiple reflections were going to drive me crazy if I stared hard enough. I took a bite on the orange slice, removing the pulp completely, swallowing it. Stevie chugged half of his beer. He held the bottle up for me to see.

"This is number six tonight. Six. With six more to go. I am going to get good and hammered. Then you can do whatever you want with me. Fuck me. Beat me. Choke me. Kill me. I don't care. Whatever you want. I have been thinking about you the past few weeks and I feel bad. I didn't know you were new to this. What I mean is, I didn't know you were completely straight. I thought you were, when we first met in the bar, but shit, you changed fast. I have never seen a break like the one you made. Straight guy becomes horny bottom in record time. You must be a damn chameleon. The guys who come in here, they might be rookies or first timers, but they are all hard core, you know? Hard core gay."


I was having trouble keeping up to his fast talking.

He was going to let me what?

Did he say kill him? Did he?

Beat him? Choke him?

The stirring moved into my cock.

I envisioned my hands around his neck. His leather legs and big boots kicking in terror. No way to get out. Me not letting go. Me, much too powerful.

It was the beer talking for him. A typical young punk drinking too fast. Okay I thought, we are getting somewhere. The guy feels bad. He is drinking a lot. He is giving up his control. I can certainly balance the scales with him tonight. Big time. This is the beauty of these little rooms. I could even up with this punk on the blow job, rip his ass to pieces, and then punch his head in. One, two, three. The head punching would actually put me over the top. Crank up the music and cover all the sounds. A damn good plan.

But I wasn't here for even up.

Why was it now part of the plan?


Opportunity presenting, so take advantage?

The way Stevie took opportunity on night one? When the straight guy stumbled into the gay bar, piss drunk? And then proceeded to get drunker? And then night two? When the straight guy who should have known better, made his return visit?

Stevie, the supreme opportunist.

I regretted for a second, I should have worn my gear. Strap it on and dominate this fucker good. Then pound him in the face. Turn out his lights. I should have worn my gear. I let the moment pass. I might as well see the stupid second floor, but first, pump shitbrains Stevie for more info about the tattoo on my ass.

"What about the tattoo?"

Stevie looked confused.

"What tattoo?" he asked.

Mentally I was on edge. The rest of me was starting to relax. My muscles and body began to drift. This night was not going to be the small deal I planned. This night was going to be much bigger. I stood and slipped my jeans off my left hip. Pulled my briefs up, baring my ass cheek. There it was. I could see it in the mirror wall. The tattoo was settled and actually looked, not bad.

Not bad?

"Holy fuck! Are you serious?" Stevie said. "When did that happen?"

"You did it, didn't you?"

I knew this prick was part of the tattoo assault.

Stevie looked incredulous.

A good actor?

"Fuck no. I sure as hell didn't."

What a liar! Son of a bitch.

"After we finished, I left the room and locked your door behind me. Went for a shower. When I got back, you were gone. Your clothes were all gone. I thought you went home."

"How could I leave this room, how could I go home when you choked me out, fucknuts?"

I could see beads of sweat running down Stevie's chest. I leaned forward again and peeled of my shirt. Because it was damn hot in the room. A tapping on the door broke the moment. We looked at each other. Stevie put his finger to his lips and stood. Motioned me to stay still.

What was the intrigue?

Stevie stepped to the door and opened it. He is whispering to someone in the hallway. I notice his bulging crotch only inches from my face. The sensation of euphoria is tugging at me again. I feel if I work it hard enough, I could float away. I can envision my bulging leather crotch in some chicks face. Or Stevie's face. My hand begins to move towards him. I am saved when Stevie steps back and closes the door. He has two more bottles of beer.

He offers one to me. I refuse. No way. I have a mission to carry out tonight. I try to put the genie of stupidity back in the bottle. I have to get my grip back. For fuck sakes, I almost touched him there. I shake my head. Stupid son of a bitch.

I suck the last drops of my orange juice.

"Are you going to eat your lemon," Stevie asks.

Christ, does this guy always want my fruit?

To answer him, I fish the lemon out of the glass and chew the fruit off the rind. I remember the sugar powder the bartender dipped the slices in. Two types of fruit. Two different sugar bowls. The sugar took the bitterness out of the lemon. The lemon slice did have a strong punch to it, a strange mouth and tongue numbing sensation. A pleasant sensation. Orange. Lemon. Both good.

Back to the ass tattoo.

Before the beer delivery interruption.

"Who the fuck did the tattoo?"

Stevie was gulping beer number seven, according to his count. Five, according to what I had seen and in a very short time frame. At one hundred and forty pounds, he was going to be putty in no time. My putty.

The tingling was running back and forth, from my asshole to my cockhead. I looked down at my jeans. They were bulging. I looked at Stevie's leather pants. Same thing. Deja vu.

Was I not here before?

Yes I was.

This time, it was him drunk and fucked up, and I would be calling the shots.

See how you enjoy this night, bitch.

Stevie appeared to be solving the tattoo riddle.

"Somebody tied to the club, obviously. Somebody with keys to your room. Somewhere in this place there must be tattoo equipment. Or a tattoo room. Maybe somebody was branding you. Somebody here has bigger plans for you."

Stevie stopped dead.

"Holy shit," he said.

"What? What?" I barked.

One word was all Stevie said.


Stevie finished his bottle. Drank from the next one.

What was he saying?

"God?" I blurted.

"God," Stevie said. Serious. As serious as an obviously drunk kid could be.

"I should have known. You have been chosen. I have heard about this. When God is interested in one of the patrons, he chooses them."

What the hell was he talking about? Why was my mind starting to wander?

I was heading back to surreal land. I could see my hand slowly crawl across the cot and touch Stevie's thigh. Touch the leather. The black leather of the pants I should have worn. My hand continued, sliding toward his packed bulge. I willed my hand to stop, but the leather felt good. Animal skin. Primal.

My head began to throb. The familiar throb from my little brown bottle. From the little blue bottle. From all of my booze. Which I did not drink tonight. The throb in my cock joined the throbbing in my head. Damn it. I needed to fight against this.

Why was this happening, with nothing ingested?

I tried to change my brain pattern from animal sex to intelligent thought. My hand stopped moving up his thigh. Thank Christ.

"Chosen? Chosen for what?"

I needed an answer.

For my tattooed ass.

I need something, anything, to keep me from falling into the abyss.

Stevie was smiling. He put his empty beer bottle on the night table. He stood up and stepped towards me. Took my hand and pulled me to my feet. Looked into my eyes. I was throbbing all over. My head. My heart. My crotch. My knees felt weak. I felt faint. I needed fresh air and cold water. I needed to move. I needed to get out. The symptoms were all around me, engulfing me. The symptoms of impending gay sex. Throbbing, sweating, drifting, the need to touch and be handled. Again, with no ingestion of alcohol or chemicals. Just an ingestion of Stevie.

"Chosen by God, to come and worship," Stevie whispered to me. A hushed, pious whisper.

God? As in the House of God?

"I have to show you something."

Stevie was holding my hand, leading me out of the room.

Let go of his fucking hand.

I couldn't.

Tried to, but couldn't.

Into the maze we went. At least I was moving.

The maze was dark. The maze was packed. Busy. Man busy.

Where was he taking me?

I followed numbly. Shit. I was watching myself holding hands with a guy. Fuck. Not again.

My body continued to throb. The throbbing felt weird against the sense of overwhelming numbness. The combination had a swirling, airy quality about it. I heard loud rutting sounds. Cots creaking. Wet kissing. Exaggerated sucking. Moaning. Thrusting and grunting. A cry of passion. A yelp of pain. It all flowed through the maze.

We tangled through the thick hallways; I felt hands all over me. We arrived at the stairwell to the second floor.

Notions of a date next week with a girl, swirled through my mind.

A date.

Some sex. Sex with a girl.

Would be so fine.

Me. Her. Naked. Touching. Her tits, her long legs, her sweet, wet pussy.

On my new video system.

Video confirmation, from the good side.

God, I lived for pussy. Once.

The swirling continued.

Mentally, I have already cancelled the date.

Stevie turned back to me.

"We are going to the second floor. You have one more test. To see if you are truly worthy. Of him."

See the novel reviews at WWW.EROTICAREVEALED.COM, June edition, and at BARNES&NOBLE.COM.

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