More Adventures with Whore

I recognized the voice the instant I answered the phone. It was Whore, my favorite Charlie Sheen lookalike. “What’cha up to?” he growled at me. His low baritone was teasing and familiar.

“Just kickin’ back after work.” I lapsed into an argot of guy talk I rarely use, because it gives the impression that I’m sittin’ around the garage, one hand suggestively danglin' between my overall-clad legs and the other clutchin' a brew. “How about you, bud?”

“Hangin’,” he told me. His voice dropped to an intimate level. “I’m feeling kinda whorey.”

“No no no,” I corrected. “You’re not feeling whorey. You’re a whore.”

“Yes.” His voice went weak, as if I’d knocked the pretense out of it. He choked out the next three words. “I’m a whore.”

“And the whore’s looking for cock, isn’t he?” I didn’t hear a reply. I didn’t need one. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Whore greeted me at his door dressed in a short kimono-like robe. “You took too long,” he told me. He jerked his head to invite me in, and led me through the dark living room and dining room to his bedroom at the back of the house.

I read the time on my cell phone. “I got here in eight minutes.”

“I needed you sooner,” he said. His robe fell to the floor, and he followed it, resting on his knees to unbutton my jeans. “God, I’ve been so hungry for you.” Without underwear, my already-hard cock popped out of the fly, and he stuffed it into his mouth without hesitation.

“That’s because whores are all appetite,” I murmured to him in the darkness, letting my pelvis grind in and out of his mouth. His cheeks huffed and expanded as he made coughing and gagging noises—not because I was occluding his expert throat, but because he wanted me to think I was. “All appetite and no restraint.”

I hauled him up then, using his chin to drag him to a standing position before I grabbed the back of his head and forced his lips against mine. “Let’s fuck,” I whispered, yanking myself away from the sloppy kiss. “You know that’s what I’m here for.”

He fell back on the bed then. My jeans were already around my shoes; I pulled my head through the neck hole of my t-shirt but left it on, so that it pulled across the back my neck like a yoke. As he lifted his legs for me, I climbed up onto the bed, jeans and sneakers and all, and after a few moments, slid inside his already-lubed ass.

We fucked, volleying profane encouragements at each other in animal-like growls, for close to five minutes, when suddenly he looked at the clock radio on his bedside table. “You might not like this,” he told me, “but I have someone else coming over.”

“Oh?” I asked, stopping my thrusting.

“And he doesn’t like three-ways.”

“Oh.”

“But,” he said in a sly voice, as if he’d planned it all along. Which he had. “It doesn’t take him long to get his business over with, and I thought . . . if you were into it . . . I could do him in the living room and then come back here and we could finish.”

“You want me to sit back here in your bedroom and listen to you get fucked by some strange guy in the living room?” I asked him. We were playing the game in which I was pretending to be dubious, though we both knew that I would sign on to the plan. Right then, the doorbell rang. “You fucking pig cunt. Whatever. But you’d better make it loud for me.”

“I promise.” He pulled himself to a sitting position after I’d slopped out of him, and grabbed for his robe from the floor. “I’ll make it loud for you, I swear. You’ll hear. All for you.”

I lay back on the bed after he disappeared, legs spread, my hand covering the bottom half of my cock. The heels of my shoes dug into his blanket. Two rooms over, I heard the front door open, followed by a brief conversation I couldn’t distinguish. Then I heard them move to the chair at the back of the living room, only ten feet from where I lay. Next came the sound of a zipper, the whisper of denim sliding down, and a sharp hiss of pleasure.

“Yeah!” Whore’s voice was twice the volume of any of our usual encounters. “Fuck yeah, hot cock invading my tight whore ass!” My own dick swelled at the sound. “Fuckin’ hot top’s gonna make me his bitch! Yeah man, make me feel that big cock of y—oh! Oh yeah! That’s it man! Do it! Fuckin do . . . me . . . right!”

Whore lives in a duplex; I couldn’t help but wonder what his neighbors were making of all the noise from the first floor. Frankly, I didn’t much care. I spat on my hand and began stroking myself, quietly, so that my presence wouldn’t be betrayed. “You like that ass? Yeah? You like that ass?” Whore yodeled from the living room. “Come on, man! Time to do it! Yeah! Yeah! I can tell you’re close!”

“Yeah,” I heard the other guy whimper. “Yeah, let me . . . I’m gonna . . . OH YEAH!”

“YEAH!” Whore yelled at the same time. “Fuckin’ hot load all up in your whore!”

The sound of the stranger’s climax almost pushed me over the edge myself, but I squeezed my cock and stopped myself at the edge. Within moments, Whore appeared in the bedroom. “He’s gone,” he told me. Only then did I hear the distant sound of the front door closing. The man had been there for perhaps all of four minutes. “I’m filled with his stuff. He got some on me too.”

His chest glistened with droplets of semen in the light from the neighbor’s porch filtering through the gauzy curtains. “You are such a goddamned whore,” I told him.

“You know you loved listening,” he said. I admitted I did. “It was all for you. You ready to be finished off, stallion?” he growled, throwing himself backwards onto the mattress so that he bounced.

“You have to ask?” I took a moment to prepare myself, then slid into him once again. The stranger’s fluids made both our chests sticky. Whore smelled of his own cologne, and of spunk, and of another man’s sweat.

“Bang it,” he said. “Bang my ass! Bang it like—shit! Shit shit shit shit shiiiiiiiit!”

His own cock, which had been hard and dripping the entire time, suddenly started spurting over his nipples and chest and face as he hollered in orgasm. This was no faked display, this time; his face was contorted in what looked like absolute pain, but his body shook in pleasure. Again, somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered about the neighbors upstairs. Not for long, though. The sight of him drenched in sperm sent me over the edge, and I let out a roar as my nerves began jangling with electricity.

Dressing was easy, as I hadn’t actually removed any clothing. I fastened the top button on my jeans, pulled down my t-shirt. While I was running my fingers through my sex-mussed hair, I remarked, “So is there someone in the kitchen waiting for me to leave?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I’ve got one in every room of the house, waiting for the next to finish off.”

“It’s as complicated as those Russian nesting dolls.”

He grinned at that one. “You’re fun.”