The thick green velvet curtains of the cheap hotel room
blocked all light coming from outside. A thin yellow ray of sun cut through the
dankness like a knife. Dust swirled in eddies. I was naked, on my knees in a
submissive crouch; hands on my knees. Towering above me was a Hispanic ex-con
that just been released from the border patrol after being detained for two
days. Or so he said.
Met him in the Plaza. Said he could get a good score on H. His torso was a mass of tattoos and scars. He was tall and beefy/muscular. Through my fucked up eyelids I saw him standing above me naked...no not quite...his khaki pants were dropped to his ankles and the sweaty wife beater was pulled up over his thick neck. A gold necklace of Guadalupe was the only color across the mass of brown chest. With his muscular left hand, he held me by my hair and it hurt, with his right hand he was masturbating wildly. My eyes were not focused on that thick brown penis, but I was more entranced at watching his huge testicles bouncing rapidly as he jerked off. I glanced up at that bulldog face. The grimace. The thick mustache. The slick back black hair.
"Don't you fucking look at me!" He snarls and whack! across my face with an open palm. I'm about to fall over, but he roughly grabs me by my hair again. I can feel a trickle of blood ooze out of my nostril across my lips. He tightens the grip on my hair. It really hurts.
He rises onto the tips of his toes and grunts like some kind of beast. I can feel the hot licks of his semen splashing across my face. He jabs his thick short penis into my mouth and rams it in deep, pushing the back of my head. I gag. I can't breathe.
"Take it, you fucking faggot!" He growls through silver-capped teeth.
He throws me down onto the cold dusty concrete floor. Wipes his penis with a ragged towel and tosses it onto my face. Dressing, he says walking out with his back to me, "Your shit's on the table, faggot."
Slam! He is gone and I am alone. I can taste semen and blood on my lips. I look up through a haze to see the junk he left is on the nightstand. Man, the things I do for this shit.
Met him in the Plaza. Said he could get a good score on H. His torso was a mass of tattoos and scars. He was tall and beefy/muscular. Through my fucked up eyelids I saw him standing above me naked...no not quite...his khaki pants were dropped to his ankles and the sweaty wife beater was pulled up over his thick neck. A gold necklace of Guadalupe was the only color across the mass of brown chest. With his muscular left hand, he held me by my hair and it hurt, with his right hand he was masturbating wildly. My eyes were not focused on that thick brown penis, but I was more entranced at watching his huge testicles bouncing rapidly as he jerked off. I glanced up at that bulldog face. The grimace. The thick mustache. The slick back black hair.
"Don't you fucking look at me!" He snarls and whack! across my face with an open palm. I'm about to fall over, but he roughly grabs me by my hair again. I can feel a trickle of blood ooze out of my nostril across my lips. He tightens the grip on my hair. It really hurts.
He rises onto the tips of his toes and grunts like some kind of beast. I can feel the hot licks of his semen splashing across my face. He jabs his thick short penis into my mouth and rams it in deep, pushing the back of my head. I gag. I can't breathe.
"Take it, you fucking faggot!" He growls through silver-capped teeth.
He throws me down onto the cold dusty concrete floor. Wipes his penis with a ragged towel and tosses it onto my face. Dressing, he says walking out with his back to me, "Your shit's on the table, faggot."
Slam! He is gone and I am alone. I can taste semen and blood on my lips. I look up through a haze to see the junk he left is on the nightstand. Man, the things I do for this shit.
6 comments:
wow. good luck with that. You have skill. I admire that...awesome.
I have found that what is extreme to most is pretty run of the mill to me and what I would consider extreme is beyond most people's comprehension. You sir, are not most people and thank "our lucky stars".
I'm with Al. Brilliant writing, scary situation.
~K
This is when the hunter becomes the game. It looks to me like you are game. Please take care.
This is brilliant. You are both the master and the slave. I am awed.
You write beautifully about ugly things. Take care. Come back soon.
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