Macho Sluts, page 31
The two uniforms began to struggle with her, trying to hold her and remove her jacket at the same time. It wasn’t easy, but they finally got it off—after she had hit one of them in the mouth and kicked the other one to his knees. The patrolman grabbed it, and she expected him to throw it on the floor, but instead he draped it over one of the faded armchairs. Then he walked back to the center of the room and confronted her again.
“What do you mean by running around like that?” he demanded.
“The way I dress is my own damned business.”
He slapped her with the front and then the back of his hand. “Bullshit. You still don’t know what the drill is, do you, sister? I just made it my business. Now answer me. What are you supposed to be?”
She didn’t answer, just stared her hatred into him.
“You got a leather jacket. You got a leather belt with fancy studs on it. You wear those engineer boots with the chain around them. I’ll bet you’ve got some of those leather pants with the front and the ass cut out, don’t you? And some whips and chains and all the rest of the gear those sickos collect. What are you, one of those sadomasochists?”
“Yes!” she shouted, because the cops behind her had her up on her toes, and they were pressing their thumbs into her armpits, making it hurt good and strong.
“Well, I never saw a freak of your particular type before. And I thought I’d turned over just about every piece of garbage in every gutter and sewer in this city. I’ve seen butch dykes and their foxy girlfriends, and I’ve seen those women’s libbers with their dirty, long hair and no bras, and I’ve even known a couple of smart-looking call girls who didn’t look like dykes but would cut your balls off if you laid a hand on their roommates. You must be some new kind of female pervert. Or are you just an imitation fag?”
“A lot of people think so,” she said, teeth on edge. She was sweating. The pain was excruciating.
“Well, if you are, you’re going to walk out of here a changed woman. You know that? You can’t be any harder to break than a leatherboy. I know those kinda faggots inside and out. I scare them shitless, but they’ll do anything to get next to me. And I don’t care where they wear their keys, they lick my boots and my dick and my asshole and anything else I tell them to put in their mouths for as long as I want them to, that’s just the way I like it. You will, too. And if you don’t jump fast enough, I know how to persuade you. A little pain can make people change their minds awful damn fast. And if you’re working on somebody who gets off on pain, who wants it to hurt, it works even better, because they get so turned on they can’t think straight. Hell, I didn’t even have to hurt you to get you to suck my cock in the squad car. What do you figure you’ll do if I get you in a corner and make it hurt real bad? Huh?”
“You really are something else. You make it with gay men, huh? Leathermen, no less. Then why do you hate lesbians?”
His smile was ugly. “I never said I hated lesbians, honey. I said I have a thing for them.” He patted his crotch. “Right here. I just gotta find a way to persuade them to cooperate. Fags come around quick. They have good sense. They like cock. But I never had a dyke before. I saw you walkin’ down the street and you got me hard, that’s all.”
She began to kick, strike out, and scream. As they wrestled her down to the floor, her T-shirt got ripped. She had embarrassed them before, so this time they were more careful. They hit her hard and fast, and gave her no opportunity to surprise them. In a depressingly short time, her face was being rubbed against the coarse, filthy carpet, and their boots were pressing into her neck and the small of her back.
“So what are they here for?” she raged. “What are they? Pigs in training?”
“Joe and Mike? They’re my good buddies. My protégés, sugartits. And they’ve been working awful hard tonight with damned little to show for it. So you’re going to provide some overtime compensation. Get on your knees.” Bruised and shaking, she complied. “Take your top off. Oh, you do wear a bra. Take that off, too. God, what nice, big tits.”
Joe and Mike were standing hip to hip, their hands on each other’s flies. Light glinted off their nightsticks and the textured plastic grips of their revolvers. The sight of men handling each other was a sure-fire turn-on, despite her abraded face and Don’s bigoted remarks. What a kinky little triad she had stumbled onto! The highway patrolman was behind her, buckling the soft leather hospital restraints around her upper arms. He fastened them very close together, pulling her shoulders back and making her breasts arch out. He stood behind her, holding her head, making her watch the two policemen fondle each other. Finally, they unzipped and began to rub and slap their exposed hard-ons together. When Don snapped his fingers, each of them removed a Trojan from his uniform shirt and rolled it over his buddy’s dick.
“Good boys. This is where you come in,” he said, and shoved her toward them. She inched forward on her knees, and each of them reached out a hand to bring her into their circle. It was a blissful interlude. They competed with each other to slip into her mouth. While she sucked one, hot and deep, the other would rub his cock against her cheeks and neck, or press it into his partner’s hand, or stroke it himself. At one point, she was feasting alternately on their balls. She had to bend her head way back to get to them, and while the furry sacks filled her cheeks, their erections rested along her nose and forehead, leaving wet little saliva marks under her hairline. One of them even rubbed his cock all over her crewcut, gasping at the feel of the short hair tickling his prick. They tried to make her suck both cocks at the same time, and she briefly succeeded in getting two heads into her mouth, but she could not keep her teeth out of the way, so they alternated, six strokes apiece, moving her from shaft to shaft. She spluttered, drooled, choked, and dived after them.
Joe’s dick was shorter and thicker, with a somewhat flat head—a pile-driver. Mike’s was proportioned more like a mushroom, the cap much bigger than the long, slender stem.
“I’m gonna come, Don,” Joe began to pant. “I mean sir, sir, shall I come in her mouth or what? Tell me quick, please! Huh-huh-huh!”
“Unload,” Don told him, smoking his cigar.
This time she didn’t have any trouble keeping his whole dick down without choking while he came. The extra-thick shape was no problem without the length that triggered her gag reflex. Joe pulled out, one hand wrapped around the base of his now-flaccid meat to hold the loose rubber on. She didn’t see what he did with it because Don spoke suddenly, sardonically, and instantly had her full attention.
“What about you, Mike? Gonna get your rocks off any time soon?”
Mike’s erection faltered. She moved to take him deeper, protectively, in her mouth, to hide the evidence of his softened cock from his master. “Not just yet,” he said, tickling her ears.
“I know you,” the patrolman said. “You can’t come without a little extra attention, can you, mister?”
“No, sir, I can’t, sir.”
The patrolman moved behind him and took him in his arms. The black-gloved hands unbuttoned his shirt and began to play with his flat nipples, barely visible in the mat of chest hair. Suddenly, she had more cock than she could handle. Mike gripped her to him, refusing to let her get away, and pumped into her throat. The harder Don worked on his tits, the harder he got and the deeper he thrust into her soft tissues. She felt like an Accu-jac, a convenient sex toy being used to help these two men get off with each other. Mike had only one hand on her head now, and she could see that the other one was behind him, busily working Don up to full erection.
Now Don’s hands were on Mike’s cock, and he was jerking him off, slowly and insistently milking his rosy shaft. “I’m going to jerk him off in your mouth,” he told her coldly. “Isn’t that exciting? Pinch your own tits, Mike. I want you to fill up that scumbag with fresh spunk. You better produce a lot of cream, boy, or it’s your ass. You, cocksucker, don’t take that rubber off him until I can see the size of his load.”
They continued that way—Mike pulling on his own tits, Don pumping his cock, her twirling her tongue around the head of Mike’s dick—until he came, copiously, and sagged, weak in the knees. “God, it’s hard to come standing up,” he complained.
Don let go of him, grabbed the prophylactic and slid it off. “You forgot to say thank you,” he grinned. “Now git down on the floor next to her.” Mike hesitated, and his face turned red. Don shouted, “I said kneel, you punk!”
Mike obeyed him with bad grace, giving her one furious glance that wiped the smile off her face. Don took Mike’s face in his big hands and forced his mouth open. “Swallow it,” Don said, squeezing the contents of the used rubber onto his tongue. He did, grimacing. She could only imagine how your own cum would taste, cold. Don’s hard-on was in her face, and she transferred her attention to it. Mike mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” with obvious lack of sincerity, and got to his own feet while Don reached down for her and helped her up.
He turned her and held her the way he had held Mike. His leather-clad hands felt her breasts, dug briefly into her sore armpits, then reached for her belt buckle and undid it and the top button of her jeans. One hand slid inside her pants, the other hand undoing buttons until he could cup his fingers around her cunt. The heel of his palm rested against her clit, and his long fingers dabbled in her juices, then pierced her hole and filled it. “I’m sorry to see you’re all dry and reluctant,” he said, biting her ear. “Joe, Mike!” He indicated her boots. The two came over and lifted her feet one at a time, removed her boots and socks, then tugged her jeans down over her hips. All her clothes were piled with the jacket on the dusty armchair.
He was so tall, he had to pull her off her feet to get his hand around her cunt. His jacket creaked, smelling deliciously of leather and armpits. He began to chew her neck and shoulder, his fingers moving just enough to make her cunt feel good. His hard cock pressed against her buttocks, smearing thick liquid into her crack. Did his cock just leak continually, she wondered, constantly secreting this stream of sex juice?
“You lied to me before,” he said, flicking one of her nipples. “Remember? You told me you didn’t like it. But you do. I’m your worst fear and your best fantasy. You’re just pissed because I haven’t fucked you yet.” He went to work on the other side of her throat. His mustache burned, his mouth sucked and licked her, his teeth left puncture marks and bite marks from her ear down her neck all the way across her shoulder. Her hands were pressed against his pubic hair, and she had just enough mobility in the hospital restraints to be able to fondle his balls. When he felt her touch, he bit her harder and dug his fingers deeper into her vagina. Finally, he lifted his head. “Joe, clean her out, okay?”
Joe approached her, swinging a guard-dog training collar in one hand. Each of its chain links were attached to prongs which would lay flat when the dog’s leash had slack in it. If the dog lunged, the leash would pull the prongs up and make them dig into the dog’s neck. Naked, collared, and with arms bound behind her, she was easy to control. He led her into the bathroom. A douche hose dangled from the shower head, and this familiar sight was so incongruous, she erupted into helpless laughter. Joe grinned, then turned his back on her to hide his expression, twirled the faucets, and tested the temperature of the water flowing through the hose. Mike joined them, sat on the toilet, bent her over his knee and greased her ass, then held her there, keeping the tips of his fingers just barely inside it. She could feel the calluses on his hands.
“How far up should we clean?” Joe asked, spurting hose in hand. He could have been an obscene statue in a garden fountain. She barely repressed a hysterical giggle.
Don was watching them from the doorway. He had retrieved and relit his cigar. “I don’t know. Hey, bitch-dog. You. Dyke. Ever had a fist up your ass?”
“Never!”
“Not yet, anyway. How about a cock?”
There was a long silence.
“Well, well, well. I guess I’m never going to get to fuck me a virgin. How many, fur-pie? Answer me!”
“A few.”
“Meaning you don’t remember. Well, Joe, I’d say you ought to clean it up to the second sphincter. Mike’s kind of fastidious, and I wouldn’t want him to get any caca on his pretty long schlong. But I don’t think you have to give her a colonic. We haven’t got all week,”
While this diagnosis was being made, Joe had maneuvered her into the tiled cubicle, and her bowel had been filling with warm water. He removed the hose, and she yipped with alarm as a small trickle of water escaped along with it. She cried out again as Don’s belt swung overhead and landed right on her ass. “No spills,” he warned her. “You don’t get rid of that until I say so. Now crawl over here and lick my big, fascist boots. Come on, put your ass in the air and pray over ’em.” The belt landed again and again, but she somehow maintained her control and kept the dreadful weight of water bottled inside her guts. His boot-leather was smooth and tasted of fine polish. God, it was good to grovel on the floor and savor them. He didn’t let her up until her ass was bright red and both boots were shiny with her spit.
They perched her on the toilet and stood close, cocks out, helping each other into condoms, while torrents of water rushed out of her ass. “God, you stink,” Don growled, and shoved his dick into her mouth. They fucked her face while she shat again and again, and kept fucking her mouth long after the cramps had subsided. Then the process was repeated—more water, a tongue-bath for Joe’s and Mike’s shoes, another session on the throne and choking on their sheathed dicks, one after another, as fast as they could pull her mouth down onto one, off of it, and onto another. Would she ever be able to close her mouth and swallow again?
Finally, when her insides had been pronounced squeaky-clean, they removed the hospital restraints and shoved her under the shower. While two of them guarded her under the water, one would disrobe. Joe and Mike put on jockstraps, police boots, and their gun belts. Don removed his shirt and trousers, then replaced his Sam Browne belt and boots. His jock was made out of studded leather. He kept the belt he had removed earlier from his motorcycle jacket in his hand. Watching this transformation, she shuddered with lust, turning in the hot water, wishing there were some way to avoid this confrontation with her fantasies, and deeply glad that there was no escape.
Their nearly-naked bodies were alien to her. Their hips were too flat, shoulders too broad, nipples too small and flat, their muscles came in long plates, and they were covered with fur everywhere. Don’s auburn fuzz contrasted pleasantly with Mike’s blond, almost-invisible hair and Joe’s abundant black bear fur. Their asses were square, narrow. They even smelled strange—had a tang about them that women did not.
The water was turned off, Joe and Mike grabbed her, and under Don’s orders they carried her over to the bed. She was still dripping wet, so they rolled her back and forth on the sheet, then both of them began to lick her, removing the moisture from her skin with their tongues. Almost shyly, their mouths covered her breasts and sucked up her nipples, their tongues strayed into her armpits and down her sides, penetrated her mouth and caressed her thighs.
“How does she taste?” Don demanded. “You two queer bastards ever done anything like this with a girl before?”
They both denied it.
“Well, dive in, assholes. Lick her everywhere. I’d love to see your queer faces buried in that snatch, but I’m afraid y’all might acquire a taste for it. So you just use your fingers, you hear? And keep ’em on the outside. No finger-banging. Just juice her up. It’s a pity, ’cause you boys could really learn how to muff-dive from our friend here. I bet she knows how to suck pussy real good, don’t you, sweetheart?”
She admitted it, barely coherent, driven out of her mind by the tongues lapping all over her body and the fingers that spread lubrication up and down, again and again, from her clit to her asshole, but kept her empty, driving her to produce more and more fluid. She could feel the shape of her own internal sex-parts, knew how deep her vagina went and the angle it took, by the way it ached to be pushed open and stroked. But she was not allowed to direct or guide what was happening in any way. Joe continued to tongue and massage her, but Mike let her hands go long enough to remove his jock. When he returned, his balls drooped in her face.
“Swallow his nuts,” Don ordered her. “I see you trying to lick his balls. You—stuff ’em in her mouth. Sit on her face.”
Mike, still angry about having been ordered to the floor beside her, was only too happy to oblige. Disregarding his own comfort, he crammed his entire ballsac into her mouth. She retaliated by sucking hard on his eggs, then clamping her lips tightly around them and running her tongue and her teeth across the taut skin of his scrotum. He must not have minded too much because he pulled away from her enough to stretch his sac even more and began to play with himself, dripping sweat and pre-cum onto her breasts.
Joe was lying on his stomach between her legs, his fingers busy, licking her thighs. She could tell that he really wanted to go ahead and put his tongue there, in that forbidden groove, but was afraid of Don’s wrath. Nevertheless, he was slipping a finger or two into her occasionally, despite the strict prohibition against this misbehavior. Her lips swelled, parted, and became incredibly slippery. When Don spoke, they both jumped.
“You like the way that smells?” Don sneered. Joe didn’t even turn around.
“It smells like sex, sir,” he said softly.
Don ignored that response and ordered his subordinates to jack off enough to keep their dicks hard. “I want to be able to look over there and see you enjoying yourselves,” he said.
