Sand - 4

By Jim Chaffee

She brings home a video tape. We smoke a joint and watch it. Bad lighting and shaky camera work mark it as amateur. Two naked men, one a dirty blonde with a wispy beard, tall and lanky, his ribs showing, a pathetic patchwork of a few strands of hair on his sunken chest, the other covered with dark hair, muscular and tattooed, wearing a thick, full beard, sit side by side on a bed.

The lanky blonde’s enormous penis lays flaccid on his thigh. The other takes it up in his hand, then leans over and engulfs with his mouth. He goes to his knees beside the bed, sucking the soft thing until it grows into an enormous fat erection he licks, slavers over, and kisses, slurping loudly, shoving it deep into his throat.

Clarice raises her skirt above her thighs and fingers her vagina around the sides of her panties. When the skinny man tenses up, ready to blow his load, she starts with the little birdlike chirps, the same stabbing peeps she emitted when I fucked her assistant and she licked my asshole with her condom-covered tongue.

The scene abruptly jumps to the muscular man laying flat on his stomach, his hairy back and shoulders mossy with sweat. The skinny one fingers his asshole, first with one finger, then two, then shoves his whole hand into the mans rectum. His forearm disappears as the other pushes against the invasion. He removes his arm, climbs on top and fucks his passive partner with enviable vigor.

By this time Clarice is singing like a bird, fingering her cunt with as much vigor as the skinny man fucks the bear. She keeps on when the film finishes. Eventually she stops and stares at me, saying nothing. After a while, she gets up and goes to bed.

*****************************

Once a week or so we watch that movie and a couple more with the same two men. The big guy always submits to the skinny one with the giant dork.

These sessions come close to being our only routine sex life. Clarice continues to spring on me when I least expect it, but now I can count on watching her masturbate to the homosexual films.

Most nights we prowl the galleries and small theatres and bars where people expect to see us together. We often sit with people she knows. She never introduces me, instead treating me like a pet or a liege, a role to which I willingly submit.

One night she doesn’t masturbate. We watch all the movies while we smoke two or three joints. She asks if I recognize one of the men. I look carefully and realize that the big guy, the submissive one, is her receptionist Urso. I wonder how I could have missed it.

She presents one of her smiles as reward for my recognition, then leaves the room, returning naked except for a sort of blouse of chain and beadwork that allows her naked breasts to swing like nippled tubes. From one hand she dangles leather restraints held high above her head. In the other she holds out a tapered cone with a rounded bulbous apex extending maybe five or six inches from a rectangular base.

She beckons me with the cone, cooing “Come with me, love. Time for the next level. This is made of silicon. It won’t hurt.” Purring in a soothing voice “It won’t hurt you. It’s a starter.”

I don’t move, in part because I am inert from the dope. She walks over and pulls me out of the chair, leads me to her bedroom and tells me to undress and lie flat on my stomach. I do as told. She straps the restraints to my wrists and ankles and ties them to headboard and footboard.

Stretched out and helpless, I cannot see her as she climbs onto my legs and works the plug up my ass. It doesn’t enter easily. I feel cold lubricant as she prods and pokes. After a brief, sharp pain I feel full. The object warms up as she shoves it in and out, and all the time she's chirping like a baby bird. I know she’s masturbating as she reams me. An erection sprouts and I finish with a moan.

When she stops and lets me up, she inspects the spot I’d left behind and smiles for a second time. Then she hands me clean sheets and tells me to make up the bed. She’s not going to sleep in my mess.

*****************************

These new sessions are our primary sexual outlet. She still demands I fuck her from time to time, and she still sucks me off through a condom, but since that night she will not let me eat her.

The inversion of roles is her only sexual release when we are together. They are nothing like the infrequent medical indignities to which I have been forced to submit over the years. I look forward to her rectal invasions, grateful for sexual release as a couple. In fact, I am losing interest in our other activities. I think she will end them soon.

*****************************

One afternoon Urso shows up as I finish office hours.

“Clarice sent me,” he says in his gentle voice. “She wants you to come with me.”

I climb into the cab of his black diesel dualie and he drives to a small box of a dilapidated clapboard house near her office. A CD of heavy metal with a freak screaming in a falsetto about New York City drowns out all other noise.

Inside the dusky patterned plaster walls of the living room a reek of marijuana, mildew and old clothes hangs in the air. The lanky man with the big dick stands in a doorway smiling at me, wearing only a pair of yellow stained briefs.

“Where’s Clarice?” I ask.

He nods towards the room behind him.

He steps aside and I walk into a bedroom. Clarice sits naked on a black crushed velvet settee, smoking a joint while one of her slender black cigarettes smolders in the ashtray beside her, smoke trailing towards a dirty once-white ceiling.

She pats the spot beside her. I stand and stare at her. The music that played in the truck shrieks in the background.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, standing up and dragging me to the sofa, pushing me down, sitting beside me. “Jealousy is stupid under these circumstances. You can’t be jealous of a queer like Matt here,” pointing to the scrawny, sallow dishwater blonde wearing a straggly wisp of a beard, looking more like a scarecrow in person than in the videos.

He leers at her and steps out of his underwear, his long, uncircumcised cock hanging limp almost to his knees. He takes Urso by the hand and leads him to the bed. Urso snarfs the flaccid penis like a sausage, sucking loudly until it stands erect, a pulsing, curved dildo, throbbing purple and drooling from a fat round head grown free of its foreskin.

Clarice stares spellbound, fingering herself. I feel myself growing erect. Urso leaves off sucking Matt’s cock and comes over to the sofa, pushing me aside and sitting between us. He puts his ham-sized hand behind my head and draws my mouth to his, kissing me and pushing his tongue inside. He tastes salty, I guess Matt’s secretions, and his breath emanates the odor of spunk.

He turns to Clarice and pulls her by the tits, grabbing the nipples and pinching until she cries out, forcing her head toward his crotch. She struggles, and the fiercer her struggle the harder he kneads her breasts, stretching them, pulling them, working her mouth towards his. She pulls away and screams with pain.

He stands and grabs my wrists, jerking me to the bed in a single motion, forcing me to my knees before Matt. He shoves my head into Matt’s crotch.

Urso lifts my legs so I am suspended like a bridge hanging on with my hands around Matt’s meager arms. Matt drives his engorged cock into my mouth, shoving on my head as he tries to ram the whole thing down my throat while Urso slides off my pants.

Through the throbbing in my veins I hear Clarice singing out her bird calls. Urso forces his dick into my asshole, pushing with one straight shot past the immediate stab of pain. He pumps with increasing speed and I ejaculate.

I feel a hot spurt in my ass and Clarice lets out a shriek. Matt moans and holds my head down in his crotch, pinching my nostrils shut as a long jet of warm, thick fluid gushes into my mouth. I work to swallow it all but cough it up bursting out around his dick and onto his crotch.

He lets me up when he finishes. Hot, viscous fluid oozes down between my legs and I feel more hanging from my mouth and chin.

Matt grabs a handful of my hair, pulls my head up and slaps me hard across the face. “Listen bitch, next time you swallow it all. It’s too precious for a sissy like you to waste.”

Clarice stops screaming and collapses, legs apart, head thrown back, arms akimbo, softly moaning and panting.

I want to clean up the mess on my face and legs but Clarice will have none of it. She tells me I should look like the cocksucker I harbor in my heart. Instead of driving us home, she takes me to one of her favorite bars, displaying me to her friends as if wearing dried sperm on my chin and lips were a natural state. Everyone can see the black and blue finger marks on her breasts through her blouse.

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Sand - 4

By Jim Chaffee