manymoney22
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I'd spent most of the day lounging, napping, watching TV, picking at my Statics homework. Mitchell had gone out for a couple of errands. By the time he got back that evening, the sun was rapidly waning in the western sky.
He flopped down next to me, tossing the plastic sack between us. "I picked up a new suit for tonight, Trevor. I grabbed you one too if you want it." He pulled a small piece of cloth from the bag and tossed it to me.
"Nice," I said, spreading it out in the air before me, a skimpy nylon swimsuit-type piece, mostly black but with red stripes cleverly accentuating the groin. "Where'd you find this thing?"
"That specialty store on Washington. They each set me back a C-note but the salesman absolutely convinced me. See those zippers?"
"Yeah." I undid the zippers and tugged. The entire skin of the suit unwrapped and pulled off with some cleverly-hidden snaps, leaving behind a gossamer gauze-like black remnant shaped like a man's bikini. My fingers were easily distinguishable through both layers. I noted that the cloth just turned opaque along a narrow strip in the middle of the back side, and the front pouch seemed to be made of slightly darker material. I tried to visualize the sense of mystery it would create in just the right spots "God, that's awesome. We may as well be fucking naked." I started trying to put the pieces back together and fumbled. "Fuck, it isn't meant to go together quickly, is it?"
Mitch chuckled at my discomfiture. "No, you better hope your mom doesn't walk into the room." He stood and started away. "I'm going to go get ready. We'll have to go across to the other side of the city, so we'd better leave about eight."
"Cool." I finally started making headway on the suit as Mitchell bounded up the stairs. Managing at last to get it reassembled, I stood and started up the stairs towards the bathroom. Mitch was just emerging from his room, nude, with a towel over his shoulder. He waited at the bathroom door while I grabbed my shaver. On the way out, I punched him in the chest. "An hour of showering wasn't enough for you?" He ignored me.
Getting ready to strip always takes so damn much time, I thought. I stepped into my room and removed my shorts and t-shirt and stared into my closet. Always tough to look good in clothes you're willing to sacrifice; as often as not you don't walk out of that situation with them. Chicks dig their mementos. We didn't have special outfits for stripping; that would be a little obvious to our parents.
At length I selected a plain black tight silk t-shirt and a pair of washed-out jeans with one ripped knee. Nothing fancy; after all we were, strictly speaking, amateurs. I tossed the clothes on the bed then reached into the drawer and pulled out a braided hemp twine necklace, nice macho-looking clay beads woven into the pattern, fastening it snugly around my neck.
Looking in the mirror, I grabbed my shaver and quickly brushed away the touch of five o'clock shadow that had ac
ulated, also taking out the small patch of stubble that had formed on my chest.
I pulled on my selected clothes, starting with the new suit Mitch had brought home, carefully assuring that everything was square and in place. I sprayed some hairspray on to keep my hair from going wild and sticking up with movement. I threw my normal supplies in a gym bag, an extra set of clothes, wallet, cell phone, a couple other things I might need
I checked the clock. Ten to eight. I made my way downstairs into the kitchen. A sandwich would be nice to have before taking off.
Mitch had already had a similar idea and was munching hungrily on something. "So who's gonna haul more tonight?"
"You," I answered. "This bunch always likes you more."
He gave me a boyish grin, "You're so resigned to it."
"Yeah, tell me who usually hauls more," I shot back.
Mitch took a huge bite and mumbled through a mouthful of food, "Mmmfff mm mff."
I laughed and started grabbing stuff out of the fridge. We chatted about nothing as we ate, finishing up and cleaning the mess. The oven clock declared 8:02. "Time to jet, Trevor."
Acknowledging, we gathered our things and headed out. We decided we'd take my car, and I started the engine, flipping on the headlights as the dusk darkened.
The trip was uneventful. The target address was a townhouse on the opposite end of the city. Rich neighborhood. Five minutes before we got there, Mitch pulled his floppy dick out and started stroking it. "Fluffing already?" I asked him. He shrugged nonchalantly.
A few months after we'd started stripping, Mitch figured out that a friend of his was a professional stripper and started milking him for advice. He had given a lot of good pointers. For example, never have sex with the women. Your allure came from the fact that you were mysterious, you were a fantasy. You have sex with just one of them, and word spreads like wildfire. No more image. Appointments and money dry up.
Another pointer we took to heart involved surgical tubing. If you tie a piece of rubber snugly around your package after you get hard, your cock won't shrink all the way. The trick is to tie it just loose enough that you can stand it for a couple hours yet tight enough to keep your member in a permanently enlarged but flexible condition. It took some practice, but by now we could do it in our sleep.
As I parked in the appropriate driveway, I took a closer look at the massive homes around us. Opulent, spacious, these were houses of the elite. The adults were aloof and the children were pampered, most of them never having had to make do with generic-brand tennis shoes or secondhand clothing. I smiled to myself. I got a perverse pleasure from bilking these people. This would be fun.
Beside me, Mitchell was gingerly adjusting the rubber in his groin. As he zipped his pants back up, I pulled my own penis from its place. He looked at it, then at me and grinned. "Why don't you let me do that," he said.
I smiled back and reclined the seat some, giving him room. I thought he would use his hands, but he surprised me as his face moved to my groin, and his warm mouth engulfed my soft member.
It didn't take long. When my cock was hard, Mitch produced another piece of rubber tubing and started pulling it snugly around my package. "Say when," he said. I did, and he expertly looped the tubing in place and tucked the ends into their places.
He sat back in his chair and I zipped up my pants. I glanced at the clock on the dash. "Ready to make some cash, Mitch?"
"Let's do it." We exited the car and made our way up the walkway to the huge front door. As we walked, the thumping sound of music wafted towards us from the home. We transformed with every step, setting aside our scruples, carefully folding and hiding our modesty. We were different people on these occasions, all man and sex and smooth. I rang the bell when we reached the entrance, and we waited for a few seconds until a woman with long black hair opened the door.
She smiled when she saw us, and opened the door. "Come in."
We followed her towards the main room. "So, what are we celebrating tonight, Molly?" Mitch asked our hostess. These were regulars, and it's always good to remember names.
"A birthday," she said. "Her name is Becky. She's 21."
We flaunted our carefully developed and cultivated attitude, smiling and winking and waving at the young women we passed. As we entered the main room, Molly called out, "The entertainment's here, girls!" As if on cue, sixty eyes turned toward us, the music suddenly changed to a sultry, hyperactive beat, the lighting dimmed, and I took in the room in a moment. It was huge, two stories tall, with a rock wall on one side. Colored spotlights had been set up in the corner, and were flashing right and left and around in rhythmic patterns. A girl in a halter-top and headphones stood behind a rack of electronic equipment, speakers flanking her on every side, her hands flying busily over the controls. As I watched, smoke started issuing across the floor. Above, a balcony curved all the way across the room, several smiling faces staring down from the railing, broad stairs coursing down to the right. More faces, twenty or thirty, cluttered the room in front of me. Some I recognized, remembered a few names. Others I didn't, their eyes wide at our welcome intrusion.
I slid behind Molly and put my mouth to her ear. "This is good, Molly. Nice work." And it was. She'd made this party rock for these girls, and they were going to be generous. I watched the side of her face rise in a smile, and I slid my arms up hers to her shoulders, tickling her ear lobe with my tongue.
Then Mitch and I moved to the center of the room. We pulled a couple girls up with us, and started doing what we did best, feeling the pulse of testosterone through our veins as the hands started groping.
There's a marked difference between women dancing for men and vice versa. The rule when women dance is that no one touches. Strictly hands off. The policy is often brutally enforced, and the men are expected to maintain a certain respect and decorum.
When men dance for women, though, all bets are off. Women can lose themselves in reckless abandon. If they want to touch, they touch. If they want to tear something off, they do it. If they want to suck, that's their right.
My stepbrother and I had polar opposite styles to our dancing, and those styles in very short order tended to sift the audience into two different groups. When Mitch danced, he drew women that worshipped the ideal. They were drawn by his perfect, boyish face and Adonis-like body. His male form was strikingly beautiful. And he could satisfy that entire group, offering eye candy and groping stock for everyone who wanted it. He was a master at making every girl in the group think that sacrificing that new dress was worth getting to see just a little more.
On the other hand, though I was perfectly defined and very well muscled, my body had protrusions that didn't fit the ideal; while my face was attractive enough, it wasn't perfect. But I specialized in zeroing in on the timid girls who held back, the ones who felt they weren't popular enough, or weren't skinny enough, or weren't beautiful enough, and giving them my complete undivided attention for those few brief moments, making them feel like we were the only two people in the world and sparking fantasies within them that would warm them for a long time to come.
And if they had the money, they paid to get that feeling. They paid whatever it would take. And I milked that shamelessly. I figured it was a good trade. A shot of self-esteem, and maybe a self-gratifying orgasm or two later on when they were alone, instead of a new blouse or pair of shoes. Most of the girls in that category were happy with the deal.
And so the night progressed. As we felt we'd gotten enough for the privilege, we'd strip off an article of clothing. A girl who gave a little more money got a little special attention in return, or got to cop a longer feel, or got a little bump and grind. The music pulsated, the misty air lending a sultry atmosphere.
At one point, sometime after we'd lost our pants and were dancing in those matching stripsuits, Mitch learned the identity of the birthday girl. He signaled me, and we singled her out, pulled her to the middle of the floor, and gave her the time of her life. As she got into it, she started mouthing and groping Mitch's bulge, then turned to mine, pulling our swollen members into the open, licking and experiencing. We worked it, grinding, gyrating, bumping into her until she'd had her fill and stumbled light-headed back to the group.
The girls were wild by then and spontaneously surrounded us, groping and stuffing cash onto us. We plucked it together as quickly as we could, folding it all with practiced hands into our palms. More out of a desire for something solid to hold onto in the crush of screaming, grabbing women than anything else, I stood front to back to Mitch and wrapped an arm around his chest for balance.
Suddenly, most of the girls that noticed that went crazy, and a couple hundred dollars were immediately thrown at us. Holy shit, I thought. "They like us together, Mitch!" I had to yell to be heard. He yelled something in acknowledgement. Some of the girls were starting to yell at us to touch each other and rub each other. "Should we see how far we can take this?"
Mitch yelled back, "Yeah, let's try it," and we started actually dancing together, simulating sexual positions, groping and rubbing each other according to the beat of the music and the demands of the crowd.
Most of them loved it, absolutely fucking loved it. A 20 and a 50 and another pair of 20's found their way into my hands in rapid succession. My fist was bulging with money. Mitch was experiencing the same problem. The girls had moved back, darting in to feel and grab and lick and deposit a bill, then moving back, giving us room to move, but the screams punctuated by the throbbing music remained just as loud.
"Time for our ace in the hole!" yelled Mitch. "Let's bring it home!" We turned toward each other and quickly undid the concealed zippers on the suits and pulled them off one another, almost as one.
Bedlam erupted as this mob screamed, loving every second. I never could explain it, we could never produce such frenzy before or since, not even dancing together. It seemed to just be one of those spontaneous events you can't reproduce. But they wanted to see two men engaged sexually, and they started screaming it. "Suck him off!" "Make him!" reverberated in our ears as I moved behind him, grinding against him, my hands rubbing over the gossamer fabric, grappling with his engorged cock.
We'd now lost ourselves to the crowd's will. We really started having sex then, no more simulation. We weren't thinking. Girls reached in to tuck bill after bill, but we ignored it all. We sank to our knees and I pulled his cock out, stroking it, cupping his balls, his back leaning hard against my chest. The noise disappeared, and I was only aware of Mitchell and the lights.
Mitch flipped himself over and mouthed my cock through the gauze. He pulled down the skimpy suit and deftly untied the rubber around my package. Savagely, he engulfed my suddenly rock-hard cock to it's hilt. I exploded immediately, screaming savagely as I unloaded down Mitchell's throat. The crowd screamed with me, and I could pick out one or two voices whose scream was a little more guttural than normal. No sooner had I finished shooting into Mitch's mouth than he shoved me back onto my back and climbed on top of me, straddling my chest, grabbing my by the hair with one hand, pumping his cock with the other. I was vaguely aware that his rubber tubing had already been removed as his hot splashed out onto my face, into my mouth and up my nose, and Mitchell too screamed like a wounded animal. Once again, voices rose in response, and a lot of them were unmistakably orgasmic.
As I opened my eyes in a stupor, I looked straight up. Right over me, through the sea of feminine faces and figures, was a solitary man, looking down on us from the balcony with a strange smile on his face. He seemed familiar to me... Where had I seen...?
Quickly, the music died and the lights brightened. In response, the madly cheering crowd began to settle, moving back. As Mitch climbed off of me, I saw his virtually naked body coated in a sheen of sweat. He offered me a hand and I took it. We stood on an island littered with cash. I was aware of Molly moving to stand with us. She handed us a pair of hand towels, which we used to dry off our faces and necks.
"I think I speak for all of us," Molly said, getting the restless crowd's attention, "when I say that that was the hottest thing I've ever seen." The mob of girls cheered in response. Mitch and I grinned at each other and started picking up the cash, stacking it neatly in our palms, gathering what clothing we could find around us. Both our shirts had been shredded and not much was left. The seat of my pants was gone, jagged scissor marks around the gaping hole. The crotch of Mitch's had disappeared, along with one of the legs. Amazingly, the outer covering of both our stripsuits had survived intact.
Once we'd salvaged everything we could, we started moving out of the room. Calmer music had replaced the throbbing beats of earlier. The girls cheered again as we left, and Molly followed us toward the door.
When we reached it, I touched Molly on the shoulder. "Could you do us a favor?" I told her where we'd left our gym bags in my car and told her the keypad combination to get in. She smiled and walked out the door with a wink.
"That was quite a show," drawled a voice from behind us as soon as the door had closed. Turning we saw the same man I'd seen on the balcony. Tall, corded, youthful features and jet black hair belied the hard, intelligent look which probed into us from hazel-green eyes.
Then it all clicked. "You're Brian. You were on the squad two years ago."
"Good memory." He probed Mitchell. "You two really got into it out there."
Mitch shrugged noncommittally. "Gotta give the people what they want."
"Ah, but there was more, wasn't there? I saw your faces. You two weren't thinking. You weren't satisfying the crowd." His penetrating gaze turned to me. "You were fucking with each other."
My eyes narrowed. I knew about this guy, and I saw no reason to extend my trust. "What are you doing here anyway? It's a chick party."
He shrugged. "Molly's my sister. Our parents let her use the townhouse for her little parties. But I live here." He turned back to me. "I remember you. You were mediocre on the squad. You didn't really deserve the scholarship you got." His gaze shifted to Mitch. "And I remember you mentioned your stepbrother once."
"What do you want?" I demanded.
"Let me take a wild guess," he started. "Until lately, you two have been one hundred percent straight. But something happened recently, probably by accident, and you liked it. You've been experimenting with each other." He paused. I was suddenly wary. This guy wasn't somebody to underestimate. I knew the stories, and he didn't match them. His power of perception scared me. "But you're amateurs. You've no idea what kind of fire you're dealing with, and you know it. What you need, what you want is somebody to show you what manfucking is all about." His eyes met Mitch's and bored in. "Don't you?"
"Yes," Mitch answered immediately.
"Speak for yourself, Mitch. I don't trust this guy."
Brian continued smoothly, "Why don't I pay you a visit tomorrow, oh, about three. I'll teach you everything you need to know.
At that moment, the front door opened up and Molly handed us our bags, glancing at her brother momentarily before wishing us good night and walking away. We dressed quickly out of our bags, stuffing the cash and salvaged items into them. Brian watched us silently, almost disinterestedly.
As we finished and turned toward the door, Brian brought us up short. "Well?"
Mitch turned and looked at him. "1362 Elm Street. It's up on Blane Hill." He looked at me as I gave him a venomous look. "Sit it out if you want, Trevor. I don't give a fuck."
And with that we stepped out of the house, walked down the yard, and climbed into the car.
On the drive back home, I recounted to him what I'd heard about Brian. He'd been a sophomore on the squad when I was a freshman. He was good at wrestling. Really good. Until he failed a random drug test and was cashiered. He'd become a pariah on campus, relegated to the segment of the population reserved to the rest of the stoners and losers. I'd seen him from time to time in the university hallways, but we'd never spoken since he left the squad.
On top of that were the snickered rumors about the "little faggot" that used to be on the squad. Whispered were stories of the guy who was a blowjob slut and enjoyed the gang rape to which he had been subjected. It was rumored that he'd become a complete reprobate after he was kicked off the squad, with his reported crimes ranging from drug dealing to grand theft auto. With that kind of history, I concluded, how safe would this guy be to be around?
"Those stories are full of shit," said Mitchell matter-of-factly.
"How do you know?" I demanded.
"Did he strike you as the type to just bend over and take it up the ass? Some sort of slut? And this guy's smart. In control. No, I think there's a little more to those rumors than what you've heard."
As he spoke, Mitch reached into the back seat and grabbed the bags and pulled the aculated cash from them. "I hope you're right about that," I said testily.
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow afternoon," he replied cooly as he started counting.
Our mood brightened quickly as the cash we'd collected went well into the fourth digit. Not bad for two hours' work. As always, we split it fifty-fifty.
He flopped down next to me, tossing the plastic sack between us. "I picked up a new suit for tonight, Trevor. I grabbed you one too if you want it." He pulled a small piece of cloth from the bag and tossed it to me.
"Nice," I said, spreading it out in the air before me, a skimpy nylon swimsuit-type piece, mostly black but with red stripes cleverly accentuating the groin. "Where'd you find this thing?"
"That specialty store on Washington. They each set me back a C-note but the salesman absolutely convinced me. See those zippers?"
"Yeah." I undid the zippers and tugged. The entire skin of the suit unwrapped and pulled off with some cleverly-hidden snaps, leaving behind a gossamer gauze-like black remnant shaped like a man's bikini. My fingers were easily distinguishable through both layers. I noted that the cloth just turned opaque along a narrow strip in the middle of the back side, and the front pouch seemed to be made of slightly darker material. I tried to visualize the sense of mystery it would create in just the right spots "God, that's awesome. We may as well be fucking naked." I started trying to put the pieces back together and fumbled. "Fuck, it isn't meant to go together quickly, is it?"
Mitch chuckled at my discomfiture. "No, you better hope your mom doesn't walk into the room." He stood and started away. "I'm going to go get ready. We'll have to go across to the other side of the city, so we'd better leave about eight."
"Cool." I finally started making headway on the suit as Mitchell bounded up the stairs. Managing at last to get it reassembled, I stood and started up the stairs towards the bathroom. Mitch was just emerging from his room, nude, with a towel over his shoulder. He waited at the bathroom door while I grabbed my shaver. On the way out, I punched him in the chest. "An hour of showering wasn't enough for you?" He ignored me.
Getting ready to strip always takes so damn much time, I thought. I stepped into my room and removed my shorts and t-shirt and stared into my closet. Always tough to look good in clothes you're willing to sacrifice; as often as not you don't walk out of that situation with them. Chicks dig their mementos. We didn't have special outfits for stripping; that would be a little obvious to our parents.
At length I selected a plain black tight silk t-shirt and a pair of washed-out jeans with one ripped knee. Nothing fancy; after all we were, strictly speaking, amateurs. I tossed the clothes on the bed then reached into the drawer and pulled out a braided hemp twine necklace, nice macho-looking clay beads woven into the pattern, fastening it snugly around my neck.
Looking in the mirror, I grabbed my shaver and quickly brushed away the touch of five o'clock shadow that had ac
ulated, also taking out the small patch of stubble that had formed on my chest.I pulled on my selected clothes, starting with the new suit Mitch had brought home, carefully assuring that everything was square and in place. I sprayed some hairspray on to keep my hair from going wild and sticking up with movement. I threw my normal supplies in a gym bag, an extra set of clothes, wallet, cell phone, a couple other things I might need
I checked the clock. Ten to eight. I made my way downstairs into the kitchen. A sandwich would be nice to have before taking off.
Mitch had already had a similar idea and was munching hungrily on something. "So who's gonna haul more tonight?"
"You," I answered. "This bunch always likes you more."
He gave me a boyish grin, "You're so resigned to it."
"Yeah, tell me who usually hauls more," I shot back.
Mitch took a huge bite and mumbled through a mouthful of food, "Mmmfff mm mff."
I laughed and started grabbing stuff out of the fridge. We chatted about nothing as we ate, finishing up and cleaning the mess. The oven clock declared 8:02. "Time to jet, Trevor."
Acknowledging, we gathered our things and headed out. We decided we'd take my car, and I started the engine, flipping on the headlights as the dusk darkened.
The trip was uneventful. The target address was a townhouse on the opposite end of the city. Rich neighborhood. Five minutes before we got there, Mitch pulled his floppy dick out and started stroking it. "Fluffing already?" I asked him. He shrugged nonchalantly.
A few months after we'd started stripping, Mitch figured out that a friend of his was a professional stripper and started milking him for advice. He had given a lot of good pointers. For example, never have sex with the women. Your allure came from the fact that you were mysterious, you were a fantasy. You have sex with just one of them, and word spreads like wildfire. No more image. Appointments and money dry up.
Another pointer we took to heart involved surgical tubing. If you tie a piece of rubber snugly around your package after you get hard, your cock won't shrink all the way. The trick is to tie it just loose enough that you can stand it for a couple hours yet tight enough to keep your member in a permanently enlarged but flexible condition. It took some practice, but by now we could do it in our sleep.
As I parked in the appropriate driveway, I took a closer look at the massive homes around us. Opulent, spacious, these were houses of the elite. The adults were aloof and the children were pampered, most of them never having had to make do with generic-brand tennis shoes or secondhand clothing. I smiled to myself. I got a perverse pleasure from bilking these people. This would be fun.
Beside me, Mitchell was gingerly adjusting the rubber in his groin. As he zipped his pants back up, I pulled my own penis from its place. He looked at it, then at me and grinned. "Why don't you let me do that," he said.
I smiled back and reclined the seat some, giving him room. I thought he would use his hands, but he surprised me as his face moved to my groin, and his warm mouth engulfed my soft member.
It didn't take long. When my cock was hard, Mitch produced another piece of rubber tubing and started pulling it snugly around my package. "Say when," he said. I did, and he expertly looped the tubing in place and tucked the ends into their places.
He sat back in his chair and I zipped up my pants. I glanced at the clock on the dash. "Ready to make some cash, Mitch?"
"Let's do it." We exited the car and made our way up the walkway to the huge front door. As we walked, the thumping sound of music wafted towards us from the home. We transformed with every step, setting aside our scruples, carefully folding and hiding our modesty. We were different people on these occasions, all man and sex and smooth. I rang the bell when we reached the entrance, and we waited for a few seconds until a woman with long black hair opened the door.
She smiled when she saw us, and opened the door. "Come in."
We followed her towards the main room. "So, what are we celebrating tonight, Molly?" Mitch asked our hostess. These were regulars, and it's always good to remember names.
"A birthday," she said. "Her name is Becky. She's 21."
We flaunted our carefully developed and cultivated attitude, smiling and winking and waving at the young women we passed. As we entered the main room, Molly called out, "The entertainment's here, girls!" As if on cue, sixty eyes turned toward us, the music suddenly changed to a sultry, hyperactive beat, the lighting dimmed, and I took in the room in a moment. It was huge, two stories tall, with a rock wall on one side. Colored spotlights had been set up in the corner, and were flashing right and left and around in rhythmic patterns. A girl in a halter-top and headphones stood behind a rack of electronic equipment, speakers flanking her on every side, her hands flying busily over the controls. As I watched, smoke started issuing across the floor. Above, a balcony curved all the way across the room, several smiling faces staring down from the railing, broad stairs coursing down to the right. More faces, twenty or thirty, cluttered the room in front of me. Some I recognized, remembered a few names. Others I didn't, their eyes wide at our welcome intrusion.
I slid behind Molly and put my mouth to her ear. "This is good, Molly. Nice work." And it was. She'd made this party rock for these girls, and they were going to be generous. I watched the side of her face rise in a smile, and I slid my arms up hers to her shoulders, tickling her ear lobe with my tongue.
Then Mitch and I moved to the center of the room. We pulled a couple girls up with us, and started doing what we did best, feeling the pulse of testosterone through our veins as the hands started groping.
There's a marked difference between women dancing for men and vice versa. The rule when women dance is that no one touches. Strictly hands off. The policy is often brutally enforced, and the men are expected to maintain a certain respect and decorum.
When men dance for women, though, all bets are off. Women can lose themselves in reckless abandon. If they want to touch, they touch. If they want to tear something off, they do it. If they want to suck, that's their right.
My stepbrother and I had polar opposite styles to our dancing, and those styles in very short order tended to sift the audience into two different groups. When Mitch danced, he drew women that worshipped the ideal. They were drawn by his perfect, boyish face and Adonis-like body. His male form was strikingly beautiful. And he could satisfy that entire group, offering eye candy and groping stock for everyone who wanted it. He was a master at making every girl in the group think that sacrificing that new dress was worth getting to see just a little more.
On the other hand, though I was perfectly defined and very well muscled, my body had protrusions that didn't fit the ideal; while my face was attractive enough, it wasn't perfect. But I specialized in zeroing in on the timid girls who held back, the ones who felt they weren't popular enough, or weren't skinny enough, or weren't beautiful enough, and giving them my complete undivided attention for those few brief moments, making them feel like we were the only two people in the world and sparking fantasies within them that would warm them for a long time to come.
And if they had the money, they paid to get that feeling. They paid whatever it would take. And I milked that shamelessly. I figured it was a good trade. A shot of self-esteem, and maybe a self-gratifying orgasm or two later on when they were alone, instead of a new blouse or pair of shoes. Most of the girls in that category were happy with the deal.
And so the night progressed. As we felt we'd gotten enough for the privilege, we'd strip off an article of clothing. A girl who gave a little more money got a little special attention in return, or got to cop a longer feel, or got a little bump and grind. The music pulsated, the misty air lending a sultry atmosphere.
At one point, sometime after we'd lost our pants and were dancing in those matching stripsuits, Mitch learned the identity of the birthday girl. He signaled me, and we singled her out, pulled her to the middle of the floor, and gave her the time of her life. As she got into it, she started mouthing and groping Mitch's bulge, then turned to mine, pulling our swollen members into the open, licking and experiencing. We worked it, grinding, gyrating, bumping into her until she'd had her fill and stumbled light-headed back to the group.
The girls were wild by then and spontaneously surrounded us, groping and stuffing cash onto us. We plucked it together as quickly as we could, folding it all with practiced hands into our palms. More out of a desire for something solid to hold onto in the crush of screaming, grabbing women than anything else, I stood front to back to Mitch and wrapped an arm around his chest for balance.
Suddenly, most of the girls that noticed that went crazy, and a couple hundred dollars were immediately thrown at us. Holy shit, I thought. "They like us together, Mitch!" I had to yell to be heard. He yelled something in acknowledgement. Some of the girls were starting to yell at us to touch each other and rub each other. "Should we see how far we can take this?"
Mitch yelled back, "Yeah, let's try it," and we started actually dancing together, simulating sexual positions, groping and rubbing each other according to the beat of the music and the demands of the crowd.
Most of them loved it, absolutely fucking loved it. A 20 and a 50 and another pair of 20's found their way into my hands in rapid succession. My fist was bulging with money. Mitch was experiencing the same problem. The girls had moved back, darting in to feel and grab and lick and deposit a bill, then moving back, giving us room to move, but the screams punctuated by the throbbing music remained just as loud.
"Time for our ace in the hole!" yelled Mitch. "Let's bring it home!" We turned toward each other and quickly undid the concealed zippers on the suits and pulled them off one another, almost as one.
Bedlam erupted as this mob screamed, loving every second. I never could explain it, we could never produce such frenzy before or since, not even dancing together. It seemed to just be one of those spontaneous events you can't reproduce. But they wanted to see two men engaged sexually, and they started screaming it. "Suck him off!" "Make him
!" reverberated in our ears as I moved behind him, grinding against him, my hands rubbing over the gossamer fabric, grappling with his engorged cock.We'd now lost ourselves to the crowd's will. We really started having sex then, no more simulation. We weren't thinking. Girls reached in to tuck bill after bill, but we ignored it all. We sank to our knees and I pulled his cock out, stroking it, cupping his balls, his back leaning hard against my chest. The noise disappeared, and I was only aware of Mitchell and the lights.
Mitch flipped himself over and mouthed my cock through the gauze. He pulled down the skimpy suit and deftly untied the rubber around my package. Savagely, he engulfed my suddenly rock-hard cock to it's hilt. I exploded immediately, screaming savagely as I unloaded
down Mitchell's throat. The crowd screamed with me, and I could pick out one or two voices whose scream was a little more guttural than normal. No sooner had I finished shooting into Mitch's mouth than he shoved me back onto my back and climbed on top of me, straddling my chest, grabbing my by the hair with one hand, pumping his cock with the other. I was vaguely aware that his rubber tubing had already been removed as his hot splashed out onto my face, into my mouth and up my nose, and Mitchell too screamed like a wounded animal. Once again, voices rose in response, and a lot of them were unmistakably orgasmic.As I opened my eyes in a stupor, I looked straight up. Right over me, through the sea of feminine faces and figures, was a solitary man, looking down on us from the balcony with a strange smile on his face. He seemed familiar to me... Where had I seen...?
Quickly, the music died and the lights brightened. In response, the madly cheering crowd began to settle, moving back. As Mitch climbed off of me, I saw his virtually naked body coated in a sheen of sweat. He offered me a hand and I took it. We stood on an island littered with cash. I was aware of Molly moving to stand with us. She handed us a pair of hand towels, which we used to dry off our faces and necks.
"I think I speak for all of us," Molly said, getting the restless crowd's attention, "when I say that that was the hottest thing I've ever seen." The mob of girls cheered in response. Mitch and I grinned at each other and started picking up the cash, stacking it neatly in our palms, gathering what clothing we could find around us. Both our shirts had been shredded and not much was left. The seat of my pants was gone, jagged scissor marks around the gaping hole. The crotch of Mitch's had disappeared, along with one of the legs. Amazingly, the outer covering of both our stripsuits had survived intact.
Once we'd salvaged everything we could, we started moving out of the room. Calmer music had replaced the throbbing beats of earlier. The girls cheered again as we left, and Molly followed us toward the door.
When we reached it, I touched Molly on the shoulder. "Could you do us a favor?" I told her where we'd left our gym bags in my car and told her the keypad combination to get in. She smiled and walked out the door with a wink.
"That was quite a show," drawled a voice from behind us as soon as the door had closed. Turning we saw the same man I'd seen on the balcony. Tall, corded, youthful features and jet black hair belied the hard, intelligent look which probed into us from hazel-green eyes.
Then it all clicked. "You're Brian. You were on the squad two years ago."
"Good memory." He probed Mitchell. "You two really got into it out there."
Mitch shrugged noncommittally. "Gotta give the people what they want."
"Ah, but there was more, wasn't there? I saw your faces. You two weren't thinking. You weren't satisfying the crowd." His penetrating gaze turned to me. "You were fucking with each other."
My eyes narrowed. I knew about this guy, and I saw no reason to extend my trust. "What are you doing here anyway? It's a chick party."
He shrugged. "Molly's my sister. Our parents let her use the townhouse for her little parties. But I live here." He turned back to me. "I remember you. You were mediocre on the squad. You didn't really deserve the scholarship you got." His gaze shifted to Mitch. "And I remember you mentioned your stepbrother once."
"What do you want?" I demanded.
"Let me take a wild guess," he started. "Until lately, you two have been one hundred percent straight. But something happened recently, probably by accident, and you liked it. You've been experimenting with each other." He paused. I was suddenly wary. This guy wasn't somebody to underestimate. I knew the stories, and he didn't match them. His power of perception scared me. "But you're amateurs. You've no idea what kind of fire you're dealing with, and you know it. What you need, what you want is somebody to show you what manfucking is all about." His eyes met Mitch's and bored in. "Don't you?"
"Yes," Mitch answered immediately.
"Speak for yourself, Mitch. I don't trust this guy."
Brian continued smoothly, "Why don't I pay you a visit tomorrow, oh, about three. I'll teach you everything you need to know.
At that moment, the front door opened up and Molly handed us our bags, glancing at her brother momentarily before wishing us good night and walking away. We dressed quickly out of our bags, stuffing the cash and salvaged items into them. Brian watched us silently, almost disinterestedly.
As we finished and turned toward the door, Brian brought us up short. "Well?"
Mitch turned and looked at him. "1362 Elm Street. It's up on Blane Hill." He looked at me as I gave him a venomous look. "Sit it out if you want, Trevor. I don't give a fuck."
And with that we stepped out of the house, walked down the yard, and climbed into the car.
On the drive back home, I recounted to him what I'd heard about Brian. He'd been a sophomore on the squad when I was a freshman. He was good at wrestling. Really good. Until he failed a random drug test and was cashiered. He'd become a pariah on campus, relegated to the segment of the population reserved to the rest of the stoners and losers. I'd seen him from time to time in the university hallways, but we'd never spoken since he left the squad.
On top of that were the snickered rumors about the "little faggot" that used to be on the squad. Whispered were stories of the guy who was a blowjob slut and enjoyed the gang rape to which he had been subjected. It was rumored that he'd become a complete reprobate after he was kicked off the squad, with his reported crimes ranging from drug dealing to grand theft auto. With that kind of history, I concluded, how safe would this guy be to be around?
"Those stories are full of shit," said Mitchell matter-of-factly.
"How do you know?" I demanded.
"Did he strike you as the type to just bend over and take it up the ass? Some sort of
slut? And this guy's smart. In control. No, I think there's a little more to those rumors than what you've heard."As he spoke, Mitch reached into the back seat and grabbed the bags and pulled the ac
ulated cash from them. "I hope you're right about that," I said testily."I guess we'll find out tomorrow afternoon," he replied cooly as he started counting.
Our mood brightened quickly as the cash we'd collected went well into the fourth digit. Not bad for two hours' work. As always, we split it fifty-fifty.
