In a hotel room that smelled of old cigarettes and Lysol she lay, supine upon a bed as flat and hard as sidewalk. She blinked and squinted in the axe-edge of light spread by the door opening to the afternoon sun. I caught a brief glimpse of her, pale in the dark, caught by the sudden intrusion of brightness like a theatergoer blinded by an usher’s torch. Beside her sat the man we’d come to meet. He and she both raised their hands against the light, exposing their palms and casting their faces into shadow.
Like her, he was naked. The hairs on his chest coiled like springs between his flaccid breasts. A layer of thick stubble covered his jowls. His knees were spread wide, exposing his dick in the shaft of light—rigid it was, and still wet, a curving stubby rod that seemed almost thicker than it was long. I balked at the sight, and stood motionless. “Christ, come in and shut the fucking door,” he barked.
Earl, my mentor, pushed me within, then closed the hotel door behind him. I heard him toss the key onto the table. My eyes were so bleached from the sunlight that in the near-darkness, I could see nothing. I felt Earl’s hands on my shoulders, guiding me forward. He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t need to. I knew what he was thinking, as surely as he knew my own mind. He’d realized how surprised I’d been at the sight of the female, when he’d unlocked the door and pushed me through. Another of Earl’s surprises, she was. Frightened as I was, I knew what Earl meant by that steadying grasp on my shoulders. He was there for me. And more importantly, I wouldn't be going anywhere.
I was fifteen. By this point I was firmly enthralled in Earl’s spell. Whatever he told me to do, I did without question. I put my legs into the air on command—not only for him, but for whomever he told me. I submitted to strange men blindfolded. Gagged. Collared. With my wrists and ankles restrained in a variety of creative and degrading ways. Until that point, though, all my sexual experiences in front of and away from Earl had been with men.
She was definitely not a man. She was curves, and hollows, and recesses hidden by overhanging limbs. I didn’t know what to make of her.
The strange man had risen from the bed at our entrance. I sensed, rather than saw, him shake hands with Earl. Then I felt a thick hand on my head that ran down my face and chest. It skipped down to my groin, and grabbed my dick and nuts in a way that almost made me yelp. Earl’s still-firm hold on my shoulders kept me from going anywhere, though. “The kid’s never fucked pussy, huh?” he asked.
“Nope.” Earl’s voice rumbled soft and low.
“You gonna get a piece?”
“Not today.” Earl managed to sound bored, but I knew his voice well enough to sense his voyeuristic anticipation. He let go of me and strode over to a spot in the darkness where I could hear the metal feet of a chair skid across the linoleum. “Just helping the kid pop his cherry.”
I still was having problem seeing anything in the room. I felt as if I’d been suddenly stricken blind with no hope of recovery. The pounding of my heart and the thickening of my blood from fear and panic probably wasn’t helping. I felt the man loom over me as he continued to squeeze painfully at my groin. “I thought you said he’d lost that a long time ago.”
“Not with a girl,” drawled Earl. From behind me, I heard the sound of his zipper.
The man’s hands were all over me at that point, squeezing at my nipples, grabbing my ass, poking and prodding my barely-concealed rib cage. “You ready to get your dick wet?” he leered, his spittle decorating my ear. As if I couldn’t do it myself, he tugged at my shirt to pop open the buttons, undid the snap of my corduroys. He yanked down my white briefs. With my shoes still on, my pants around my ankles and my shorts at my knees, there was no way I could do anything but fall face-forward onto the bed, humiliated.
I felt the man’s fingers jamming their way into my hole. Sparks danced before my eyes, but I didn’t protest. When I opened my lids again, I could see the vaguest of shapes and forms in the darkness. She lay on her back, head turned in my direction, watching my violation without expression. With the cover no longer covering her naked body, I could see how slim she was—long and skinny, like me. The man’s breasts were bigger than hers; save for obscenely plump nipples, her chest looked almost like a boy’s. I heard Earl’s chair shift, and felt then a pair of hands loosen free me of my shoes, and then my pants, and finally my underwear and socks. Then Earl sat back down again.
“Go for it,” the man commanded, shoving me forward. I rose onto my knees, understanding what I was supposed to be doing, but not really wanting to follow through. “You need a demo? Hell, I’ll show you how.”
I could see well enough by this point that I wasn’t at all surprised when the man stomped over to the bed’s far side. He grabbed the female’s ankle and yanked her to him, leaving her long brown hair in a trail where her body slid over the sheets. Without foreplay or preparation, he shoved himself inside, grinding into her with his fat dick. It was an obscene sight, closer to the unashamed necessity of wildlife animal sex than any of the lust-charged escapades in which I’d taken place.
She received him without protest, her eyes closed at the suddenness of his insertion. Then her lips parted in a moan. Her hips gyrated. Her back arched as she pushed forward to meet him with sexual desire. I watched him grunt into her for a little while until at last, grudgingly, he pulled away. “Your turn,” he informed me.
I wasn’t ready, not by any means. This wasn’t something I wanted. Still, I was aware that Earl was watching, and that Earl had brought me here for this purpose. I allowed the man to position me between the female’s open legs. His own dick was a steely, wet-tipped probe against my spine as he reached down and grabbed my cock, squeezing it lewdly to make it hard. It didn’t take much to make me hard, when I was fifteen. “That’s it,” he said in my ear. “I’ll guide you in.”
It took a few attempts until I found the sweet spot, even with him guiding me there. “She’s beautiful, huh?” he kept growling into my ear, as his fist pinched tight my cock’s head. “You want her bad, don’t you? She’s going to feel real good around that boymeat.”
I’d been so petrified from the moment I’d stepped into the hotel room that I honestly didn’t know if she was beautiful or not. I’d only seen naked women before in the pages of Playboy and Penthouse—painted women of exaggerated proportions, kneeling in Daisy Dukes in a pretend barn, or straddling an oversized glass of champagne, or wearing nothing but a pair of high heels and a good string of pearls. She was none of those things. She wore none of that makeup, had none of the props. Her face was somewhere between plain and pretty. Her hair was long and straight. But she was real, and waiting, and her eyes half-shut as at last I slid into her. I know my eyes closed, so I could shut out everything but the feelings.
The sensation wasn’t bad. If I’d been left to my own devices, I might have enjoyed it. But I had the man’s half-whispered urgings continuing in my ear, a constant radio station of filth and obscenity that never ceased. I had him poking me, shoving his fingers in my hole as I tried to move in and out of the warm wetness, telling me when to move faster, when to slow down. A couple of times he bodily lifted us, still connected, and repositioned us on the bed. Throughout it all, I could hear across the room the slight jingling of Earl’s belt buckle, as it bobbed up and down in time to his self-pleasure.
My dick tingled in a way it hadn’t before—not when I masturbated, not when I’d fucked Topher. It almost felt as if the flesh down there had melted away and left only phantom sensation behind, a prickling and a sense of heat that was unlike anything I’d ever felt. I wanted to see where that sensation would take me, but I didn’t get the chance. The man pulled me out of her and wrapped his hand around my meat, then beat it roughly, urging me to shoot. Pure mechanics powered that orgasm—the mere fact that he beat at a high enough speed with firm enough pressure guaranteed the hydraulic release. He jerked my body over the female’s, forcing me to spray my load over her tits, her face, her belly. Her eyes closed reflexively to keep out the flying semen. Her glance rested not at the man who’d mated me to her, but upon me.
I hadn’t looked at her during the exercise. I’d been worried that kind of intimacy might put me off, might make me lose my hard-on. Women laughed at men who lost their hard-ons, I’d heard. Her expression was hard to read.
Not that I had time. My body was still wracked with the aftershocks of the orgasm when the man shoved me down onto the rough sheets and wretched hardness of the cheap hotel bed. I felt the weight of him, then saw bright flashes of light as he shoved himself into me with very little lubrication. Then I endured the man’s brutal thrusts as he used and flooded my hole. It wasn’t pleasurable; he was rough and almost clumsy, but my body reacted as it always did when cock entered it—my own dick hardened again, my hips pushed up and out to accommodate the man, and I moaned. I wondered if her reaction had been the same—automatic, Pavlovian, almost—when he had fucked her for me.
When it was over, I felt as if I’d been battered, but my cock was rock-hard. She saw it. I almost felt ashamed.
She and I never spoke to each other. I didn’t learn her name. In a way I didn’t need to. We both knew each other for what we were, what we’d agreed to be, that afternoon: currency to be spent, to be passed between the man who held my bank book to the man who no doubt somehow held hers.