For years, "Herb's Chalet" was just a quiet, no-nonsense restaurant that catered mainly to the over-50 crowd who enjoyed a leisurely business lunch, Sunday brunch after church, and "date night" with the spouse every Tuesday or Wednesday. The eatery's reputation was built on great steaks and seafood, a decent wine selection, and reasonable prices. But about four months ago, owner Herb DiNori hired his nephew Anton to work behind the bar. Now Anton was a club kid, and within a week dozens of his friends were hanging out and consuming large quantities of liquor.
Anton sat down with his uncle and suggested expanding the menu with lots of appetizers and finger foods. Herb saw the simple wisdom in that and readily agreed. Then Anton purposed buying some top-shelf liquors ... just a few ... that the bigger clubs were promoting. Again, Herb acquiesced to his nephew's experience on the club scene. And lastly, Anton suggested reorienting the restaurant's interior, knocking out a wall and absorbing some of the "private party" space that wasn't used very often. Uncle Herb had to think about that some, but Anton persisted and soon the bar area had new tables for about 50 more people, the dining room stayed essentially the same, and the "back room" now could only handle 80 people max for parties and special occasion catering. And Anton applied some additional pressure and twisted his favorite uncle's arm into purchasing a state-of-the-art karaoke package to be housed in an alcove near the bar that could easily be built up to look like a stage ... Anton offered to supervise the entire installation and do the carpentry work for the stage himself for free.
So now I was on my way to check out "Tunes," the revitalized bar at Herb's Chalet that served high-potency cocktails and intricate hors d'oeuvres all week and provided a singing showcase for all the drunk college kids, closet Streisands and Manilows, and American Idol wannabes on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., and Sunday evenings from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. It was a Thursday ... about 10 ... and the parking lot was packed. It was drizzling and, of course, the only parking space I could find was clear in the back.
Within 20 feet of the door, I could hear the sounds of music and singing ... really bad singing, actually ... coming from inside. Upon entering, the volume jumped up several levels and it took me a moment to establish my bearings. Just inside the door was an unmanned lectern-like structure ... probably where a host or hostess stood guard to meet and greet hungry guests. Directly ahead was the restaurant proper. There were about four or five groupings of people finishing up their meals, the remaining tables sitting silently with chairs placed atop them. One server moved casually among the lingering diners seeing to their needs ... several other bussers quietly collected silverware and table decorations like candles and small bud vases. Through a doorway to my left was the source of all the raucous sound.
"Can I help you?"
I jumped, completely unaware of the approach of a very pretty girl probably in her mid 30s. She wore a cardinal cocktail dress that dropped very low between small-but-perky breasts. Glowing pearls decorated her ears and neckline. "Yeah, I'm supposed to be meeting Anton about a newspaper feature on the renovated bar."
"Oh, sure ... he mentioned someone might be stopping by. I think he's in the back getting some fresh bottles. Why don't you wait at the bar and I'll tell him you're here."
I thanked her and watched he move off toward the dining room but turn sharply into a barely-noticeable hallway to the right. Nice ass, I mused as she disappeared, just not enough up front to keep me interested.
Refocusing on the job at hand, I entered the noisy bar area and was pretty much assaulted by three young ladies standing and hooting as a fourth female stood on stage and butchered a Whitney Houston song. Oh, shit, I thought, this is gonna be one fuckin' long night!
The "performance" ended ... thank God ... and the woman rejoined her friends, all of them laughing and falling back into their seats. I moved quickly, taking advantage of a clear path to work deeper into the bar. Now I understood why the parking lot was so jammed ... the place was packed with people off all ages and appearances. There were older folks, probably unwinding a bit after dinner in the dining room. There were several tables decorated with pitchers of beer and stacks of greasy plates ... had to be college students. I also spied a spattering of clubbers, goths, housewives, and even an occasional clump of gays. A real melting pot with a love of amateur crooning.
With some zigging and zagging ... and a few precise surgical "strikes" at rowdy drinkers making their way back to their seats ... I managed to snag a seat at the end of the bar farthest away from the action. I only had a small pad and pen with me, and my digital sound recorder which isn't much bigger than a gaudy PEZ dispenser, so I blended in easily with the crowd. I was swiveling in my seat to look around more when an older lady bartender asked what I wanted to drink. I threw caution to the wind and asked for a gin martini. "And don't be afraid of the gin bottle," I added. Her eyes crinkled at my biting remark and she smiled to reveal front teeth accented by a touch of peach lipstick. As she moved off to fill my order, another woman ... much younger and less harsh looking ... took the small stage. Spotlights with soft pink gels immediately focused on her pretty, innocent face.
"Ladies and gentlemen," crackled a voice over the state-of-the-art surround sound system. "Give it up for Natalie singing Leann Rime's 'We Can.' " There was a hearty response of applause and a few distinct whoops. Blond-headed Natalie looked terrified, staring into a monitor. But to my surprise, she began belting out the song's first few bars.
I was actually starting to enjoy Natalie's interpretation of the sexy, upbeat number when a martini glass appeared before me. I was about to thank Peach-Teeth when I noticed that the hand pushing the glass and napkin into place was larger and covered with dark hairs. I looked up and locked eyes with a barrel of a man. He was thick and powerful looking and I felt my dick lurch with desire.
"You da reporter?," he asked and immediately offered his meaty hand like the question was just a formality. "I'm the bar manager and promoter, Anton DiNori ... Jenna said you wuz here to talk about the bar." He steps back and throws out his arms to indicate his surroundings. "It's fuckin' awesome, ain't it?"
I started to form a response, but again Anton cut off any chance for me to speak and launched into details about the renovation project. I struggled to get my pad open and recorder clicked on. I had to ask Anton to slow down and repeat a few things, but he just laughed good naturedly and began speaking at a pace usually reserved for the developmentally challenged. I chuckled right along with him, hoping he mistook my amusement for enthusiasm for his hard work on revamping the bar.
As he spoke, I found myself taking in more and more details about Anton. He was a shorter man with dark, slicked back hair and carefully defined eyebrows. He was beefy but I was sure he hit the gym fairly regularly. Standing behind the bar, Anton talked animatedly, catching glimmers of light with his gaudy pinkie ring, thick ID wrist cuff that jiggled as his hand moved, and two incredibly thick gold chains circling his thick neck. His shirt was too tight but he pulled off the whole "Guido" look nicely. He looks so gay there's no way he is, I thought, bet he's got a girl that picks out his clothes and trims his eyebrows.
Anton finally stopped rambling to bark something at one of his servers as she passed our end of the bar. I took the opportunity to ask some pointed questions about how much business had picked up since the addition of the new bar features ... particularly the karaoke ... and how the restaurant's "regulars" were doing with the changes.
Anton finally stopped rambling to bark something at one of his servers as she passed our end of the bar. I took the opportunity to ask some pointed questions about how much business had picked up since the addition of the new bar features ... particularly the karaoke ... and how the restaurant's "regulars" were doing with the changes.
"My uncle's a great guy and his customers are really loyal," the nephew answered. "Believe me, there was some major messes during the reno ... piles of shit everywhere. But nobody complained ... not much." Anton paused a moment and looked around before continuing. "In fact, I see close to a dozen people who stayed after dinner tonight to enjoy the fun in here."
I jumped back in immediately. "But let me ask you this ... your uncle's business really relied on an older crowd, right?" Anton nodded his lustrous head. "So how do you explain all the young people hanging out and spending their ... or their parent's ... hard earned money?"
"Lots of these people are buds or mine or friends of friends ..." the young Italian said, but then stopped and threw back his head, gesturing over his shoulder, "but I blame him for most of it ... And I thank him every time he walks in the fuckin' door!"
When I first arrived at Tunes, I noticed the cluster of people wedged between the bar and the short set of stairs leading to the performing stage. I assumed the close-pressed patrons were individuals waiting for their turn in the limelight. Now, encouraged to gawk by Anton's cryptic comment, I focused on that area and realized that the small throng was actually about seven or eight attractive young women crowded around a striking man sitting at the bar table closest to the stage.
He was tall and gaunt, cheekbones jutting against the strong planes of his face. His hair was a carefully-gelled light brown fauxhawk poised over a tan face that housed a smallish nose and intense, dark eyes that seemed to take in the whole room while still keeping the attention of the adoring females. A well-maintained goatee outlined his strong jaw and small silver hoops gleamed in each petite ear. On each side, a young lady held or stroked the man's trim but muscled arms, easily accessible because he wore a suede vest over a sleeveless white t-shirt. In the bar light, I thought he was unusually hairy, but as the girls surrounding him moved to reveal a better picture, I realized he had light tattoos crawling over a good portion of his forearms and bicep areas. Ten years ago, I figured, this dude would have been a clone of every "bad seed" in every boy band around.
I turned back to Anton and was about to ask about the hot attention hog in the corner, but of course, he was already speaking. "That's Lucas. He's a friend of a friend of a friend that I met a few months ago. Supposedly, Lucas was a big singing star in high school and then he worked the shows on the big amusement park circuit ... you know, Cedar Point, King's Island, Six Flags. Anyway, he's even been to Nashville and made it a couple a rounds into the American Idol auditions. My one buddy says he even heard that Lucas worked on a cruise ship down in Miami. All I know is the ladies love him. Hell, I'll fuck his sweet ass if he keeps bringing in these bitches that buy silly, expensive drinks!!"
My eyes had grown wide at Anton's last remark. In my head I was seeing studly Lucas up on the bar slowly impaling himself on my pale, uncut cock ... not Anton's. And he was liking it.
"Is he a local?" I asked Anton, trying to regain my focus.
"Don't know, but he must live close because I've seen him around in the clubs and, like, at the pharmacy and the deli and shit."
I asked more questions as I continued to watch Lucas soak up the attention of his fans. "How old did you say he was? And what kind of music does he sing? And why ..."
"Whoa, man!" Anton said playfully, his hands resting lightly on his hips. "Aren't you da reporter? Go ask him yourself ... and tell him I want him to say something nice about the bar." He dismissed me with a wink and moved over to confer with still another bartender, an average-looking guy in his middle 30s.
I had just started to shift my weight off the bar stool when the speakers came to life. "And now folks ... put your hands together for everyone's favorite ... LUCAS!!" I sat back and watched him push away from his admirers and jump straight to the stage. Everyone was clapping wildly, especially his uterus-bearing entourage, as he accepted the adoration like a true ham. But once he stood behind the mike and the lights dimmed subtly, a hush fell over the bar. Even the servers and bussers and bartenders seemed to be carefully avoiding making any noises ... a clinking glass or a sliding plate ... that might break the spell.
The opening measures poured out of the sophisticated sound system ... Jackson Browne's "Somebody's Baby" ... and suddenly Lucas was all business. All performer.
Well just-a look at that girl with the lights comin' up in her eyes ... his voice was rich and so smooth, notes seemed to play over the crowd's very skin. Lucas' eyes were half closed as he emoted every phrase ... every feeling of longing and being desired. She's got to be somebody's baby ... she must be somebody's baby ... I wasn't sure, but some of the bar patrons looked like they had stopped breathing. I glanced over and saw Anton staring intensely toward the stage. He wasn't even blinking. Maybe not totally straight, I mused.
I sat mesmerized
for the remainder of the song. When he finished, Lucas stood with his head bowed. There was an elongated moment of silence before the crowd began whooping and cheering. My own hands clapped emphatically.
for the remainder of the song. When he finished, Lucas stood with his head bowed. There was an elongated moment of silence before the crowd began whooping and cheering. My own hands clapped emphatically.No one took the stage immediately following Lucas ... who would want to? ... so after he resumed his "throne" amidst his fans, I threw back the rest of my drink and crossed the bar toward his position. The number of female fans surrounding the singer had dwindled, so I inserted myself into his immediate vicinity and cleared my throat loudly. "Excuse me. Lucas, is it? I'm a reporter with the local paper and I'm doing a story on the karaoke craze here at Tunes. Anton was hoping you'd answer a few questions, maybe talk up the bar a bit ... and I'd love to get some background on you. I'm sure an up-and-coming singer like yourself could use all the publicity they can get!"
Eyes the deep color or caramel locked with mine. "Buddy, I don't talk a lot between sets ... keeps the strain down on my vocal cords. I just mind my own business, sip a little lemon water, and think about my next song." His attitude surprised me a little ... I had pegged him for a glory hound, but not necessarily an asshole. "Besides," he continued, "I was on the radio last weekend at that festival over in LaRue, and the week before that my hometown weekly did a big write up ... it's all in my blog that I keep so my fans can follow me." And the asshole has a major ego, I stated to myself.
"Sorry to bother you, Lucas," I said with obvious steam in my voice. "What I'm working on goes into our Weekender guide ... it goes to about 80,000 households and gets about 4,500 hits a day on our Web site. We're pretty proud of our work and just thought we could highlight something of interest. My mistake."
I retreated back to the bar, but I hadn't moved fast enough to escape hearing the crooner mutter a "whatever" to my retreating backside. I ordered another martini and decided that I'd at least get a bit more info from Anton before departing ... maybe he knew another regular singer ... someone with a soul ... I could talk to for the article.
It was maybe 10 minutes before the stocky Italian moved close enough so I could flag him down. Drink number two was almost gone and I was contemplating a triple play. And during the whole time, I couldn't help but steal an occasion glance at Lucas sitting smug and secure amid his groupie harem. Fucker!
"Get what you need?" Anton's shrill tenor shocked me out of my journalistic snit.
"Not one usable world ... 'Precious' likes to save his voice for important people." I sounded like a scolded child, but Anton just smiled a toothy grin. "He's like that, gets to thinkin' he's the shit and all. You just gotta get his attention."
I took a deep swig of my biting drink and hit empty glass. "Not worth the hassle."
"It is to me," Anton retorted while making another martini magically appear. "Lucas really is important to this club. He brings in a lot of friends and a lot of fans. I've even seen him be really sweet and encouraging to someone who wants to get on stage but is really scared of embarrassing themselves. He can be a nice fuckin' guy." I gave Anton a withering look that I hoped conveyed my disbelief in his line of bullshit.
Then, suckling a deep sip of Sapphire, a plan surfaced in my brain. I whispered into Anton's ear and he literally sprinted to the other end of the bar and returned with a thick black binder. I looked over its contents quickly and pointed to one particular entry. With some remorse, I pushed my drink away, briefly considering sprinting over to Anton, who was speaking to another gentleman seated near the controls for the lighting and sound systems, and stopping him. Instead, I let out a small belch and felt my balls shrivel in their hairless sack.
My whits were about 75 percent collected when a smattering of applause accompanied a heavy-set middle-aged man off the stage. His complexion looked pasty and his forehead was dotted with sweat. In my foul mood and conversation with Anton, I hadn't even paid any attention to the gentleman's song stylings ... he might have sang an Alvin and the Chipmunks holiday tune or belted out a hearty Guns 'N' Roses medley for all I knew. The man was greeted by an attractive older lady ... his wife, I assumed ... at a table-for-two and was barely seated before the speakers began a new announcement. "Folks, we have a special treat for your ... we have a member of the local press who will be appearing for one night only ... like, next." Their was a small burst of confused laughter. "Give it up for Aaron singing Heart's 'Nothin' At All.' "
I slowly walked the length of the bar ... my personal "Green Mile" ... and carefully mounted the stage. With the angle of the spots, the crowd appeared like a collection of construction-paper cutouts. But I knew where my prey sat. I looked Lucas' direction, pointed my hand for a quick second or two, and then nodded to the control area to my right. The musical accompaniment began immediately, moving more quickly than I remembered. I wasn't a big Heart fan, but my oldest brother was. He'd seen them in concert and even had a greatest hits CD he played around the house when I was younger. I had selected the song because a) it was the first song in the karaoke catalog that I spied which I was familiar with, and b) I was pretty sure I knew the words and wouldn't have to be totally dependent on the monitor screen. Sure sign of an amateur, the liquor in my system giggled.
Then it was time ... I WOULD WALK HOME EVERY EVENING, THROUGH THE PYRAMIDS OF LIGHT ... I WOULD FEED MYSELF ON SILENCE, WASH IT DOWN WITH EMPTY NIGHTS ...
I felt my guts unclench and my voice evened out as it grew accustomed to the bigger, richer sounds of amplification. I sounded smooth like I did in high school show choir (think "GLEE," but much sadder) and the big men's chorus I joined in college for the easy credit and the chance to hit on bi-curious music geeks. My body started swaying to the rythm ... I added my own flourish to the phrasing ... I trilled on a couple of end notes. I was rocking the fuck out of the song!!
IT WAS NOTHIN' AT ALL ... LIKE ANYTHING I HAD FELT BEFORE ... Truer words had never been uttered, I thought. No wonder people got into karaoke ... you felt free ... for a moment, you were bigger than life. In the rush of watching the lyrics screen and getting through the rest of the number, my heart even softened a little toward that asshole Lucas.
When I finished, I was dizzy and a bit disoriented. I only became more confused when the crowd let loose with a tsunami of clapping. They hooted ... they yelled ... a few people clapped my on the back as I made my way back to the far side of the bar. I attempted to order an ice water when I sensed a presence beside me. Lucas was there, his body tense and focused. "Let's talk," was all he said.
Anton agreed to let us sit in the back of the restaurant ... the private event area ... where it was relatively quiet. My heart rate was just returning to normal when we took seats right beside each other at a small table-for-four butted up against a wall. All the lights had been extinguished except for a row of six cans crossing over our table. I tried to trace the intricate runes inked into his arms before meeting his gaze.
I pulled out my notepad and prepared to take down all the basic elements that would frame Lucas' story... full name, age, high school and/or college, when he started singing, stuff like that. Lucas apparently had other things on his mind.
"You can sing, man ... I was actually pissed when you got all that applause. That shit's usually just for me or some drunk chick with big tits and a loose pussy."
I thanked him for the compliment, such as it was, and asked him to spell his last name. "You could tell you were feeling the music. It showed in your face ... it definitely showed in your voice."
Again, I acknowledged his flattery and proceeded to inquire about his musical influences. "Bet your dick got nice and hard," he added. And the interview came to a screeching halt.
"Excuse me."
"Your cock ... hard ... wet ... excited by braving the unknown." He giggled. "Shit, man, I can see it written all over your face. You knew you were good and it got you off!"
I would have denied it if it wasn't true. I had felt a tingle in my prick from knowing the crowd had grown quiet to listen to me. My balls had shifted a bit because I knew there were people envying my confidence for going on stage and belting my heart out. But what I didn't tell Lucas was that the semi-wood I'd thrown ... and still had ... was mostly from knowing that his fans had "switched ponies" for a moment and were mooning over me ... not him!
Then out of nowhere, Lucas reached over and rubbed my crotch with his delicate fingers. "You're still hard, dude! ... I knew it! I fuckin' knew it!" He continued to laugh at his discovery, but his hand lingered. And then the rubbing grew more deliberate. "Feels nice, man ... an artist's dick ... turned on by beautiful sights and beautiful sounds." His eyes bored into my own as he traced my now fully-aroused tool. Soft moans escaped his lips and I kept waiting for him to unzip my pants and haul my pecker out into the open air.
Lucas must have sensed my anticipation. "Sorry, man, I'd really love a taste of what you're packin' but I gotta be real careful with the pipes ... germs and straining and shit. It's the same reasons why I don't kiss." Okay, I listed off internally, he doesn't like to talk much because of his voice, and now he doesn't kiss or suck dick because of it. A high price to pay for carrying a tune.
I grabbed his hand and moved it onto his own knee. I batted my eyes a bit, trying to look unconcerned by his offputting "vocal" issues. "That's a drag, dude," I declared, "but will it hurt your precious throat if I try my luck at what you're hiding behind Door #3?" His huge smile was all the encouragement I needed to drop to my knees and wrestle his dark jeans and boxer briefs past his knees.
His cock was pale and slender, about seven inches in length jutting defiantly from a dark strip of carefully-coiffed pubes. Lucas was cut and his knob was dusty red and much wider than his shaft. Like his tattoos, tiny veins and capillaries wound around his dick, creating barely-visible patterns of lust and vitality. I dove right in.
"Yeah, of fuck, man ... that's it ... get on it ... eat that shit!!" Lucas moaned in a husky voice that seemed strained from my initial suck job. I licked and licked on his meaty knob, nudging a few inches back toward my throat but careful not to take too much ... unfortunately, I gag easily.
While I continued to pipe Lucas' organ, I loosened my own pants and freed my 8-inch crank which was slick with goo. Slowly, I began jacking the tight folds of skin around my cock, causing myself to groan. The vibrations of my growls seemed to further rile Lucas as the sensual vibrations moved from my mouth and throat up along his sensitive shaft.
"You're fuckin' good dude ... no one's hummed me like this for quite a while. Fuck ... I needed this ... needed it bad!!" I mumbled something approximating a "thank you" and suctioned his member with more force. Lucas rewarded me with a hissing intake of air and a small laugh.
Our little tug of war session ... my giving and his taking ... went on for another five minutes before I released his dick and took in a few deep breaths. Lucas just sat there with a dreamy, blissed look on his sexy face. Almost smug ... and that rallied me into action. "Okay, buddy ... I let the kissing and blowing thing slip because of your budding 'career,' but I think you owe me something."
Lucas's eyes shot open and he looked angry. "I don't fuck, man ... no matter how good of a cocksucker you are."
I just smiled and held out my hand for his. "I've got another idea. Just get the fuck up!" Lucas hesitated a few seconds but finally took my offered grip and rose to his feet. I was up beside him in a flash, helping him slip off his vest and t-shirt. His chest and back were toned and smooth ... not a blemish in site. And his whole torso was interwoven with those subtle tribal patterns.
While continuing to admire him, I moved Lucas' chair and guided him to a kneeling position facing into the seat. He was balanced over the chair back facing the room's entrance. My chair was pulled right up behind his with my back to the wall. Once seated with my cock dangling all plumped up between my legs, I was presented with a true treasure ... Lucas' luscious pale ass.
Unlike the rest of his body, Lucas' can was dusted with warm brown hairs. With the palms of my hands I touched the fleshy globes, subtle ripples developing from my manipulations. With barely-checked restraint, I pulled Lucas' ass cheeks apart. His ass ring pulsed and flexed, light brown in color with the knotted flesh surrounded by a mossy ring of hair. His hole was damp with sweat and excitement; my tongue hung out and my cock dripped more milky fluid onto the carpet. I broke the magical moment by leaning forward and blowing air across his pucker ... Lucas spread his legs wider apart and said something low and unintelligable. It sounded like "Yeeeessssssssss!"
With slow licks, the rough surface of my tongue navigated shapes around his molten opening. I explored his entire crack, sniffing and lapping like a crazed animal. In a mindless reverie, I took in everything about him ... the moist folds, the subtle textural differences between cheek and chute, the rich meld of scents like soap, sweat, and sexual funk. I ingested his ass and only dug deeper when he pushed back against my face.
Between my tongue and the tips of my two index fingers, Lucas' gash became open and pouty. I leaned back a bit and slid one finger into his heat completely. His head shot up and his spine straightened in surprise. "God damn, you ... you fucker ... that feels so damn good ... stop or I'll ... stop ... don't stop ... don't ever stop!" Lucas' head dropped back down and swayed a bit from side to side as I started slowly sawing the finger back and forth across his sensitive tissue.
With a harsh jerk, I removed my finger and stared at the slow-to-close hole. I quickly spit a gob into my hand and inserted two damp fingers back inside Lucas' chunky ass. My strumming speed racheted up and soon I was really ramming my digits as deep as I dared. Both the singer and I were grunting, mine small and focused on the moment when my fingers went deepest; his groans timed to when I was on the backstroke and really twisting his ass lips.
"You like this, pretty boy ... like getting that tight little ass reamed open like those bitches that hang all over you. You're pussy's gonna be just as sopping wet and used when I get done back here. Little pucker's gonna be smartin' for days!" I was thrilled and almost a little scared at how mean I actually sounded. And when Lucas' body tensed up, I knew he was a bit worried too.
"I said I don't get fucked!" He alsmost screamed.
"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you good, Lucas ... just not ... with ... my ... DICK!!" I nearly shouted as I added a third finger to the mix and plunged deeper than I had gone before.
"AAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" Lucas howled while holding perfectly still, overwhelmed by the bodily intrusion. My juiced fingers held their position, slightly flexing as he adjusted to the new sensation. After no further verbal protests surfaced, I slowly renewed my attack and Lucas relaxed into the increased waves of pleasure wracking his body.
As I continued sawing into his reddened hole, my other hand grabbed my prick and began jacking violently. My breathing became ragged and I lost contact with my surroundings. I bit my lips to contain my screams as I started spewing, pressing up against the hand working Lucas so that my jizz flew onto that paw.
After my twitches and unconscious thrusts subsided, I started working my load into Lucas' furry can with earnest. The slight wet noises of my penetrating pointers now rose to a sloppy, squishy, and totally sexual crescendo. My fingers blurred as I rammed full speed into Lucas' widened gash. "Fuck, man ... fuck ... I'm ... I'm ... AAAAAGGGHHHH!" Lucas shot against the dining chair while still forcibly working his hole over my hand. In awe, I watched his back heave and his flanks throb as he released his come and tried to draw in gulps of air. It was during this time that a movement off to the side caught my attention. To help customize the space, the restaurant used folding screens as a method of dividing the room into smaller areas. These screens were closed and clustered near the room's main entrance. Hiding behind one stack was a barely discernable shadow. In the darkened room, Anton watched Lucas and I while jerking a very thick uncut cock in his meaty hands.
Seeing that he may have been spotted, the stud moved deeper into the gloom and cut of my view of him coming to climax. Oh well, I thought in my contented head, that little glimpse of sausage would stick in my memory for a good long time.
With a knowing smirk, I sat back in my chair and gave my moist prick a few loving tugs. My fingers came away sticky and I snuck a few sludgy drippings into my mouth while Lucas popped up off his knees and stood, his groin spackled with thick clots of splooge. Although I wanted to, I decided not to give him the satisfaction of me licking it off. I'd just have to settle for the spreading warmth that my own little "snack" had produced.
"You're a mess!" I said with a smile that felt good playing across the worked muscles of my jaw and face.
Lucas had a beaming grin of his own. "You think? ... I can't get dressed like this!"
Without thinking but hoping he was still within earshot, I removed the expensive linen tablecloth from beside me and tossed it at Lucas' decorated crotch. "Here, use this ... just tell Anton it's the price of publicity." We both chuckled as the gorgeous crooner began mopping up his own dick slime. I was fastening my pants as I noticed a few sticky spots beside my feet. "Kinda like the cost of carpet cleaning." Lucas' stopped his efforts and looked over at me with some confusion. His eyes dropped to where I was indicating and then we both laughed louder. And I swear, from out of the dark, I heard a groan that could have either meant there was another puddle to clean up or Anton was calculating cleaning fees. I couldn't have cared less ... for several reasons, I felt like singing!!
HEADLINE: There's a New Karaoke King ... LONG May He Reign!
His cock was pale and slender, about seven inches in length jutting defiantly from a dark strip of carefully-coiffed pubes. Lucas was cut and his knob was dusty red and much wider than his shaft. Like his tattoos, tiny veins and capillaries wound around his dick, creating barely-visible patterns of lust and vitality. I dove right in.
"Yeah, of fuck, man ... that's it ... get on it ... eat that shit!!" Lucas moaned in a husky voice that seemed strained from my initial suck job. I licked and licked on his meaty knob, nudging a few inches back toward my throat but careful not to take too much ... unfortunately, I gag easily.
While I continued to pipe Lucas' organ, I loosened my own pants and freed my 8-inch crank which was slick with goo. Slowly, I began jacking the tight folds of skin around my cock, causing myself to groan. The vibrations of my growls seemed to further rile Lucas as the sensual vibrations moved from my mouth and throat up along his sensitive shaft.
"You're fuckin' good dude ... no one's hummed me like this for quite a while. Fuck ... I needed this ... needed it bad!!" I mumbled something approximating a "thank you" and suctioned his member with more force. Lucas rewarded me with a hissing intake of air and a small laugh.
Our little tug of war session ... my giving and his taking ... went on for another five minutes before I released his dick and took in a few deep breaths. Lucas just sat there with a dreamy, blissed look on his sexy face. Almost smug ... and that rallied me into action. "Okay, buddy ... I let the kissing and blowing thing slip because of your budding 'career,' but I think you owe me something."
Lucas's eyes shot open and he looked angry. "I don't fuck, man ... no matter how good of a cocksucker you are."
I just smiled and held out my hand for his. "I've got another idea. Just get the fuck up!" Lucas hesitated a few seconds but finally took my offered grip and rose to his feet. I was up beside him in a flash, helping him slip off his vest and t-shirt. His chest and back were toned and smooth ... not a blemish in site. And his whole torso was interwoven with those subtle tribal patterns.
While continuing to admire him, I moved Lucas' chair and guided him to a kneeling position facing into the seat. He was balanced over the chair back facing the room's entrance. My chair was pulled right up behind his with my back to the wall. Once seated with my cock dangling all plumped up between my legs, I was presented with a true treasure ... Lucas' luscious pale ass.
Unlike the rest of his body, Lucas' can was dusted with warm brown hairs. With the palms of my hands I touched the fleshy globes, subtle ripples developing from my manipulations. With barely-checked restraint, I pulled Lucas' ass cheeks apart. His ass ring pulsed and flexed, light brown in color with the knotted flesh surrounded by a mossy ring of hair. His hole was damp with sweat and excitement; my tongue hung out and my cock dripped more milky fluid onto the carpet. I broke the magical moment by leaning forward and blowing air across his pucker ... Lucas spread his legs wider apart and said something low and unintelligable. It sounded like "Yeeeessssssssss!"
With slow licks, the rough surface of my tongue navigated shapes around his molten opening. I explored his entire crack, sniffing and lapping like a crazed animal. In a mindless reverie, I took in everything about him ... the moist folds, the subtle textural differences between cheek and chute, the rich meld of scents like soap, sweat, and sexual funk. I ingested his ass and only dug deeper when he pushed back against my face.
Between my tongue and the tips of my two index fingers, Lucas' gash became open and pouty. I leaned back a bit and slid one finger into his heat completely. His head shot up and his spine straightened in surprise. "God damn, you ... you fucker ... that feels so damn good ... stop or I'll ... stop ... don't stop ... don't ever stop!" Lucas' head dropped back down and swayed a bit from side to side as I started slowly sawing the finger back and forth across his sensitive tissue.
With a harsh jerk, I removed my finger and stared at the slow-to-close hole. I quickly spit a gob into my hand and inserted two damp fingers back inside Lucas' chunky ass. My strumming speed racheted up and soon I was really ramming my digits as deep as I dared. Both the singer and I were grunting, mine small and focused on the moment when my fingers went deepest; his groans timed to when I was on the backstroke and really twisting his ass lips.
"You like this, pretty boy ... like getting that tight little ass reamed open like those bitches that hang all over you. You're pussy's gonna be just as sopping wet and used when I get done back here. Little pucker's gonna be smartin' for days!" I was thrilled and almost a little scared at how mean I actually sounded. And when Lucas' body tensed up, I knew he was a bit worried too.
"I said I don't get fucked!" He alsmost screamed.
"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you good, Lucas ... just not ... with ... my ... DICK!!" I nearly shouted as I added a third finger to the mix and plunged deeper than I had gone before.
"AAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" Lucas howled while holding perfectly still, overwhelmed by the bodily intrusion. My juiced fingers held their position, slightly flexing as he adjusted to the new sensation. After no further verbal protests surfaced, I slowly renewed my attack and Lucas relaxed into the increased waves of pleasure wracking his body.
As I continued sawing into his reddened hole, my other hand grabbed my prick and began jacking violently. My breathing became ragged and I lost contact with my surroundings. I bit my lips to contain my screams as I started spewing, pressing up against the hand working Lucas so that my jizz flew onto that paw.
After my twitches and unconscious thrusts subsided, I started working my load into Lucas' furry can with earnest. The slight wet noises of my penetrating pointers now rose to a sloppy, squishy, and totally sexual crescendo. My fingers blurred as I rammed full speed into Lucas' widened gash. "Fuck, man ... fuck ... I'm ... I'm ... AAAAAGGGHHHH!" Lucas shot against the dining chair while still forcibly working his hole over my hand. In awe, I watched his back heave and his flanks throb as he released his come and tried to draw in gulps of air. It was during this time that a movement off to the side caught my attention. To help customize the space, the restaurant used folding screens as a method of dividing the room into smaller areas. These screens were closed and clustered near the room's main entrance. Hiding behind one stack was a barely discernable shadow. In the darkened room, Anton watched Lucas and I while jerking a very thick uncut cock in his meaty hands.
Seeing that he may have been spotted, the stud moved deeper into the gloom and cut of my view of him coming to climax. Oh well, I thought in my contented head, that little glimpse of sausage would stick in my memory for a good long time.
With a knowing smirk, I sat back in my chair and gave my moist prick a few loving tugs. My fingers came away sticky and I snuck a few sludgy drippings into my mouth while Lucas popped up off his knees and stood, his groin spackled with thick clots of splooge. Although I wanted to, I decided not to give him the satisfaction of me licking it off. I'd just have to settle for the spreading warmth that my own little "snack" had produced.
"You're a mess!" I said with a smile that felt good playing across the worked muscles of my jaw and face.
Lucas had a beaming grin of his own. "You think? ... I can't get dressed like this!"
Without thinking but hoping he was still within earshot, I removed the expensive linen tablecloth from beside me and tossed it at Lucas' decorated crotch. "Here, use this ... just tell Anton it's the price of publicity." We both chuckled as the gorgeous crooner began mopping up his own dick slime. I was fastening my pants as I noticed a few sticky spots beside my feet. "Kinda like the cost of carpet cleaning." Lucas' stopped his efforts and looked over at me with some confusion. His eyes dropped to where I was indicating and then we both laughed louder. And I swear, from out of the dark, I heard a groan that could have either meant there was another puddle to clean up or Anton was calculating cleaning fees. I couldn't have cared less ... for several reasons, I felt like singing!!
HEADLINE: There's a New Karaoke King ... LONG May He Reign!
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