This is the 11th part of the story Thirty One Days, a challenge that involves sex, thirty-one women, and will take 31 days.
I began to move through the crowd, clutching my towel and key. As expected, the hands began to reach for my midsection. Both front and back. While creepy, it did feel empowering. As if I was walking amid my underlings. The underlings, with hands outstretched, were trying to touch the mighty one.
I exited the bar area into the maze. Again it was much darker in here, and the music thumped loudly. The maze was confusing; same as two weeks ago. A few wrong turns, a dead end, open doorways, desperate horny old men, and many gropes were endured before I found my room.
I keyed the door and went in. I turned to shut the door behind me. A fag around my age was kneeling on his towel, cock in his hand, licking his lips at me. I paused for a second. Caressed the bulge at the front of my pants. Toying with him. The urge to kick his teeth in was pressing. The kneeling fag began to shuffle towards me. Mouth and tongue busy. A hungry boy.
No, not your turn tonight, buddy.
Not tonight or ever.
This is for Stevie.
I shut the door behind me, shutting the kneeler out. The tingle in my mouth and tongue was spreading to my face. I slapped my face. Slapped it again. Totally numb. I vaguely remembered this numb face situation from last time.
Get it together, dude.
Be wary of this evil place. Be damn careful in all I do.
In fact, why not leave
Chock up the last visit as an experiment gone wrong. Take the loss.
Who cares if I came in my pants While sucking a punk's cock
Only two people know; the punk, and me. Let it go.
Does it matter in the grand scheme of life Does it
Start now and minimize the damage. Contain it. Put it away forever. I can wear my eighties leather pants to a house party, maybe score some forty-five year old chick with memories of how hot she used to be. For Christ sake, in the here and now, let this nonsense go.
Stop. Turn around. Leave.
My mind was giving me good advice. I was going to consider the advice carefully. Because it was exactly what I should do.
Two people did know I sucked a cock. One of them was me.
Instead of leaving, I turned up the lights. Mirror, mirror on every wall, watch and see how far I fall. I could see my reflection in the glass in front of me. Behind me. Beside me. On the other side of me. I looked awesome. I took off my jacket and sweatshirt. Tossed them in the locker with my car keys. I looked back at the mirror. It was steamy in here tonight. Already, sweat was beading up on my chest and stomach. The picture I was seeing looked hot.
Where was Miss Latex tonight
I could probably give her a good going over. The sharp mouthed bitch. Fuck her stupid asshole cunt.
I pulled the glass bottle from my pocket. I was excited. This was also new. The bottle, the pants and the shiny black boots. There was one more new thing. No underwear tonight. The old chick at the sex shop said no underwear, ever, under leather pants. The whole point of leather pants was sex on the table. You needed to be ready for the sex, whenever and wherever it came from. It was the 'code' of the leather pants. No problem, honey. No problem at all. I looked at the bulge in my pants. If I was a fag, I know what I would be doing to me.
Good thought, idiot.
I cracked the seal from around the brown glass bottle. Twisted off the top. Put the bottle to my nostril. Curious. Plugged my other nostril. Here goes. Anxious. What would this shit do to me I hesitated. Reached over and toggled the light up. Higher. Higher. The beams flashed around the room, creating a blazing vortex.
I looked hard at myself. I paused.
Should I leave
This isn't my thing. Call last week a walk on the wild side. A silly experiment. Not a lifestyle. Certainly not a lifestyle I wanted to live. Not if it took six cans of beer, five shots of vodka, and this leather costume to accomplish.
Although, the costume looked awfully good. The fags out in the bar and in the tight hallways couldn't keep their hands off me. Is this what I wanted Fags with their hands all over me No. Not at all.
I remain paused.
What to do Do I stop, or do I go
I am an animal. Look at me. Look at my dangerous black hide. I am here. In the underground. A dangerous animal in the dangerous underground. There is one other thing about the costume. The costume helps take away the real me. In the costume, I am somebody else. Free to do something else. Anything else. It is not me I see in the mirror.
The bottle is open.
I am leaving shortly, am I not
Just try it.
What can happen
I tip the lights back down a notch, and inhale deeply, nice and slow. I am following the directions on the bottle. I reverse nostrils and repeat. Recap the bottle and set it in on the night table.
A sickly, sweet chemical aroma fills my little room. Then a rapping at the door. I open up. Stevie pushes into the tight room. Quickly, he pulls his shirt over his head. Both of us, shirtless. Same as the last time we were here.
Stevie closes the door.
Finally I exhale, the chemical blowing out my nose and mouth. Stevie smiles widely. A mischievous smile.
What is up with the faggot
The thumping started deep in my brain box. Rattled through my body and flushed through my groin. I felt my knees buckle. Stevie pressed me back against the mirror wall. Before I could think, our mouths joined together. I sucked at his tongue as he pushed into my throat. I felt his hands on my leathered ass and smiled to myself.
Stevie the fag cannot resist me. I will have my way with him and erase the events of two weeks ago.
My hands gripped his leathered ass as we frenched and sucked at each other. The temperature shot up in the room as the pounding grew in my head and crotch. Our bodies were soaked as we slid and slipped against each other.
I felt a wave of surrender begin to wash through me. As it did, two weeks ago.
What was happening to me
I fought against this ridiculous urge to submit. Our leather crotches mashed together and my mind took off. As hot as I was in my new pants, Stevie was just as hot in his. I couldn't imagine how hot we looked together.
Why would I imagine something as stupid as this As gay as this
What was wrong with me
It was the damn leather. I fingered Stevie through the hole in the mirror two weeks ago. Because of the black leather. I was both curious and stupid. I still am. Stupid.
Since when is another guy, hot
We broke our embrace and Stevie slipped to his knees.
Here we go.
I looked down at him, his white fingers pulling at my zipper, caressing my legs, reaching for my boots. He looked up at me with hunger in his eyes. Hunger, for my cock. My cock which was thumping in my pants. Commando style. No underwear. Pull down the zipper and enjoy the bare cock, you little faggot.
My zipper went down. My pants were sliding off my sweat soaked ass. Out came my cock. Throbbing and leaden with weight. My cock was as long as Stevie's, but thicker. Angry. Veined. A second from blowing to pieces, and strangely, not close to blowing to pieces. As my cock throbbed, my body continued to weaken. My leathers were crumpling down on my big stomping boots, the rest of me totally exposed. Stevie stood, reached over and tipped the lighting up. Higher. Higher yet.
I looked at my cock.
Holy shit! My cock had never been this thick. Ever.
It looked and felt...
Somebody else's cock
Stevie picked up my bottle, removed the cap and slipped it under my nose. The chemical smell wafted up, and I inhaled deeply. Inhaled again. For some reason, I inhaled a third time.
In about ten seconds I was going to punish this faggot. Shove my giant, engorged cock into his mouth, then down his throat. Empty a bucket of slime into his scrawny belly. This fag was about to be owned. By me.
Even up was just around the corner.
About: The author of "Thirty One Days - Chapter 11" is Ronan Jackson Jefferson - You can contact the writer at Rojackjeff@hotmail.com. You can print this erotic tale for your own personal pleasure, or read more naughty stories like this in our Gay Erotic Stories section.
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