This is a work of pure fiction. All persons and events herein are fictional. Any and all resemblance to actual persons and events is purely coincidental. Persons portrayed are 18 years of age and older. Please comment.
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Gene Marshall was in darkness. He had been in darkness since he walked in the dank room. He was quickly blindfolded and pushed roughly onto the cool tiled floor and held down. His clothing was then removed violently by twelve hands. This was planned, of course, but no less exciting. He and six friends had an arrangement stemming from one night when their little heads did the thinking: each of them would take turns getting fucked by the others. Tonight was Gene's turn. Shelly was the one who suggested they tape his experience.
Shelly, his fiance, was insatiable, as was he. Every other aspect of their relationship was in synch, but sex... They lived in sex. They met at the front end of this establishment, a bar with a large base of queer and kinky patrons. She was a bartender dating one of the bouncers, he was new in town and already exploring his limits. They lived in the same apartment complex and casual smiles and waves turned into casual sex, which became a serious relationship. Her girlfriend, the bouncer, couldn't handle it and bounced. Polyamory and open relationships had their pros and cons, Gene reckoned, but the revolving cast of partners and sex acts was like being part of the best circus on earth. Knowing Gene was fucking guys on the side excited Shelly, and merely the thought of him getting fucked was almost enough to drive her to orgasm. They watched the video of him fucking Nev at the baseball game a lot when they fucked. Gene could only wonder the marathon sessions this would initiate.
The disembodied hands lifted him up.
"Bring him to the bench," a muffled voice commanded. The guys were not that keen on showing their faces, especially since one was married and two were in relationships. They were wearing bandanas around their faces, sunglasses and hats. Ripley was probably wearing a tee-shirt to hide some of his more distinguishing tattoos. The echoing of the room also had its effect.
The front end of the building, an old papermill, was a bar but the back entrance lead to a sex club made up of its own bar and several rooms, including private rooms like this one, which could be rented. Most were themed - doctor's office, medieval torture chamber... this one was a grungy looking bathroom. Rent wasn't cheap, but Shelly and Gene had years of goodwill which translated to a decent discount, split seven ways.
Gene's torso touched the cool, worn wood, and his hands were tied together under it. Someone slapped his ass.
"Pig's ready, boys. Let's pork!"
They cheered and hooted, taking turns to slap his ass or grope him. Hands squeezed his balls or his shoulders. Someone lifted his chin, and he felt someone rubbing their dick on his face. He gamely opened his mouth.
This wasn't the first cock he sucked. Although Gene firmly planted his feet in Camp Hetero, adolescent exploration and further forays with Shelly into same-sex encounters meant he wasn't too shy about going down. Gene took the cock straight to the root, until his nose was buried in someone's pubic hair. The smell was delicate, like baby powder and soap, with a faint masculine hint of sweat. Aside from Albert, few of the guys had especially short pubes. It could be anyone. Gene was guessing Saunders. He seemed the type to abhor natural scents. Whoever it was held his head still and pumped his hips while moaning.
"Fuck, guys. He's hot to trot."
"Yeah, man." Someone grabbed his meaty cheeks, spread them and spat squarely in the center. A warm glob of saliva hit his hole smartly, and he felt it twitch reflexively at the wetness. They then rubbed it in with their fingers, before pushing in. His anus gave way easily. Gene had taken a dildo or two hundred in his day, so he wasn't as nervous as Kane or Nev. He had also come well prepared, stretching at home before the short trip here.
"This hole is hun-gry!" Fingers pumped in and out, like a piston. Gene moaned and pushed in to them. They were thick. He felt a stream of cool lube drizzling on his hole and the fingers working it in smoothly. He was still getting face-fucked.
Suddenly, the fingers were removed, and he felt something thick and solid toying against his ass. Hands held his hips still as someone used the lube to glide up and down, from his taint, all the way up. The head of their cock would slightly catch on his hole, threatening to poke in, but ultimately failing to. Gene felt his hard dick rubbing on the smooth wood, his pre-cum creating a slimey pool.
Gene would describe himself as a switch for sure, but Shelly was almost always dominate. He didn't mind. The anticipation and feeling at the mercy of another was exciting. Being pinned down, having someone forcing themselves down his throat, and someone else teasing his hole, biding his time before deflowering him, was heaven. He felt his nipples harden and goosebumps bloom across his body as he imagined the sensation of being fucked by a real, actual man and his real, actual penis. Shelly was the one who was controlling this action. Aside from Gene's few hard limits, almost anything was game, including order. Would Kane's bullet be penetrating him, or would Ripley's monster or Albert's be wreaking havoc on him?
