Page 22 of H Is for Hardcore

“Hon?” I asked. I knew I had been acting a little hot under the collar with Kassy since there was a lot riding on those earned points. I also knew my wife had taken her side of things and had asked me to lighten up. But I couldn’t. And I knew that I had gotten unbearable. My tension was seething to boiling. “Hon?” I repeated more tentatively.

In reply, she tugged at her gritty zipper, surprising me with nothing on under those taut Wranglers. She shimmied out of them, kicking her boots off at the same time and stood half naked above me with her crinkly, pruned triangle of hair taunting my sight.

I said no more. That is, until I heard my belt pop open like a soda can and my own zipper complain of being yanked, hard. “What…what’s going on?” I panicked. Tried to kick at Kassy until my wife dropped down to hover over me.

She tore at the pearly snaps of her Twenty-X shirt and leaned on all fours, positioning to fill my mouth with a pert, red nipple while reaching above my head to pressure my tied wrists deeper into the sand. I suckled, forgetting Kassy at that moment.

Kassy walked up and kissed my wife. I’m not talking a small, innocent peck to the lips—it was hot! She grabbed my wife’s hair, entangling fingers, to pull her head upward, then teased her with an open mouth, gently touching my wife’s bottom lip with the tip of her pink tongue just to move away and start again.

The wife’s nipple slipped from my open lips as I gawked. My cock grew in my boxer shorts, and I was glad for the relief Kassy had afforded me before this new torture began.

Their eyes made contact and never left as their mouths danced in an erotic tease. Finally, Kassy sucked my wife’s bottom lip into her mouth and tempted their tongues into play. A feminine hand lifted the weight of my wife’s breasts, fondling them, pulling at each nipple and twisting them to my wife’s muffled moans and groans. The hand that had been wrapped in long brunette tresses eased away to where I could only imagine.

I licked my own lips and looked toward my wife’s pussy, seeing thin, rugged fingers circling her clit shaft. Those fingers drew back, following the crack of ass, and ending, I believed, by my wife’s lower lumbar because that palm had urged her to sit up and forward, fully on my face, leaving my tied hands alone in the trade for balance.

Kassy gave one last kiss to my wife before I felt those same lips at the tip of my cock’s head that had poked its way from cotton captivity. She fisted my shaft, moving the skin up and down its length as her tongue swirled the head and poked into my piss-slit.

My legs kicked once or twice. My mouth hummed with words that were never heard. And my wife began to rock harder on my lips, her engorged clit shaft hitting the tip of my nose, juices sluicing the sides of my stubbly face. I stuck my tongue out and did my best to stroke her hole, which wasn’t easy with the rocking force of an entire body sitting square on my mug.

I dragged the thirty-foot rope by tied wrists to reach for those beautiful breasts. Their heft swayed in my calloused hands until I could find and pluck at the nipples one at a time. Incoherent sounds gurgled in my wife’s throat. And I knew, somewhere in the back of my thick skull, that she was close to orgasm.

But my dick was in Kassy’s mouth. I’m a guy, and I can vouch for the fact that the little head does take over the thinking for the big head at times. This was definitely one of those times. With sweet pussy on my lips, I still couldn’t help but think only of the velvet sheath that swathed my prick.

My tied legs no longer jerked, but my hips bucked. I beat a rhythm into that deep throat until my balls crimped up to where they were almost nonexistent outside of the body. I twitched. I lunged. I moved this side, then that. Kassy rode to stay with it, just like at the pro rodeos.

My wife popped off first. I only realized it when she bore down so hard as to sore up my jaw and slop me to soaking by squirting. I tried to get my mind to her. I tried to rub her breasts just how she liked, though I was hampered by waxed rope tied tightly about my wrists and my brain losing any type of focus other than toward my groin.

Kassy’s calloused fingers took over for her warm mouth, easing the need to shoot my load immediately. She went back to seductively kissing my wife as her other hand lay flat between those breasts, urging my wife off my face and aiding in impaling that sopping, spasming twat onto my cock.

I lost it. I shot load after load while watching my new arena partner seducing my wife with her passionate kissing.

The horses had made short work of the bale and now snuffled the sodden, sandy tangled mess of human flesh, sturdy cotton work clothes, and waxed ropes. Kassy got up and led the animals away by their bits. “I think I’ll let them cool down,” she said as she exited the indoor arena.

I didn’t know whether she meant the horses or my wife and me. But it didn’t matter, I was healed and headed and laid out like a good-scoring steer. I let the ropes have me then. There was no fight left in my bondage.

SHANE ALLISON

FLAT-FOOTED

HATE WHEN PEOPLE TAP ME on the shoulder. Don’t like to be bothered. ’Specially by people I don’t care for anyway. Wish that I could say that I was happy to see David, but I wasn’t. Wasn’t in the mood to be watched by this guy who gets off watching others get off. Fucking perv. I was having one of my bad days. One of those days where nothing was going right.

David picked the worst time to come around here, bugging me, tapping me on my shoulder of self-loathing. He took a seat next to me, asked how I was doing, wanted to know how things were going. “Fine,” I said. I haven’t heard from the bastard in weeks. Hate when people ask how I’m doing. My mouth was just too lazy to speak that day. I just wanted to punch him in the face. I hated everyone in the world, despised everything on this planet. I couldn’t have been in a shittier mood.

David asked me if I wanted to mess around. I knew what he meant. I sensed what he was after. I needed a break from doing absolutely nothing, from spending all that time wasting time. We couldn’t say much, couldn’t talk too loud with this guy cuter than David sitting next to us with papers and index cards strewn. I grabbed my bag and followed him. I stared hard at the back of his head grown with salt-and-pepper waves of hair. I would have burned a hole clean through his breeder skull if I had the Superman means to do so. Like I said, he picked the wrong damn day to screw with me, to come lusting after me like some hound in heat. But that’s what he wanted, so I gave it to him. Goddamn weirdo. We sneaked into the only men’s room that was on this floor, the same stall from the last time we did this, the only one that was big enough to hold what we were about to do. Hung my bag on the coat hook screwed to the back of the stall door. I watched David unbuckle his belt, unfasten himself out of dirty jeans. He’s a maintenance worker over at the civic center, you see, so that’s why he’s so filthy. He sat upon the commode with thighs ajar, thick with waves of black fur. His red shirt that had his name embroidered in yellow letters was hiked above the belly button. His dick was no bigger than a circus peanut. He looked up into my face and smiled, showing off those perfect, Fixodent dentures. He sat there leaning against those hard toilet pipes. He’s such the freak. I worked my feet out of the black Polo flip-flops. You should have seen the way he pawed at them last time, the way he took my socks and inhaled what had been held hostage in shoes all day. Last week, he buffed my toes with his tongue to a high shine.

David and I met through a Craigslist ad. Said he was looking for someone whose toes he could suck, whose arches and heels he could worship like gods. Answered his ad ’cause I was all too familiar with dudes like David. Encountered a few when I was living in New York. Some were into athletic sneaks, while others preferred the insides of blue-collar boots. David preferred me bare, dry, and calloused.

The first guy I encountered that was into feet I met in a basement of a bookstore on Christopher Street that wasn’t a bookstore at all, but a place where gay porn was sold, where sex toys lined the walls. I didn’t frequent the shop for porno pricks and plastic dildos but for what awaited me just on the other side of the turnstile, just down a set of stairs. Thursdays and Sundays were my nights. For just ten bucks I could have all the dick I wanted. I descended into the basement with booths filled with men fucking and sucking behind wooden doors, men leaning against the wall fondling their dicks in denim all under the watchful eyes of security cameras and Jay Leno cracking jokes under a cloak of TV static. Men of all types, geezers and gods with booze in their eyes, drunk off poppers. Men very different from the mere puppies of Tallahassee. I was a few pounds lighter than I am now. Surviving only on tap water and bologna sandwiches will do that to you. You should have seen the way they were after my ass, staring at my bulge, like the dude I met on that fateful Sunday night. Brawny, tan around the shoulders while he was pale as hell in other areas. He was balding with a storm-gray beard. I stood there shy at the back of the basement, observing those boys sneaking in and out of booths with cum on their trousers, walking out with used rubbers stuck to the bottoms of their shoes.

I gawked at him like the mere piece of trade he was. We played with our dicks through denim and sweats. We wouldn’t stop staring. It was like he was trying to see through my nasty little soul. Weren’t too many that I was interested in ’cause most of them I already had had in some way, shape, or uncompromising form. Picked them off in my head: Sucked him off last night, fucked him last week. Hadn’t seen him around those parts of the West Side. Cut through his gaze as he walked around, hard. Had only two hours to spare. They closed at two on Sundays. Was the last call for cock, so to speak. I returned his stare with one of my own. When I yanked at my erection, it caught the eyes of all the guys that had been after me that night. A vacant booth was sandwiched between us. Figured it wouldn’t be empty for long if we didn’t take advantage right that second. I crept within its insides. The door barely hung on its hinges as I left it cracked to let him know that he was welcome. The booth was one of the bigger ones in the basement, so it was large enough for two randy guys like us. Two men wrestling played out on the monitor before us. The screen was smudged with God knows what. As we both started to strip out of our tees and cutoff sweats, the scent of amyl nitrate filled our lungs.

“Put away those poppers,” yelled one of the guards. I was so much of a regular that the smell had no effect on me. Tried poppers once, and they only ended up giving me a headache. I pulled my dick over elastic to show him my goods. His dick wasn’t too shabby. We watched each other as we whacked our cocks in unison. There was a concrete slab in our booth, long enough for a body. He lay there nude, jacking his sex that hung out of the cotton panel of his briefs. I felt silly standing there, the two of us massaging our hung dicks. Watched his lips move just slightly. Couldn’t make out his words for shit. I moved down and put my ear to the ground to make out his sounds. He looked so helpless. He mentioned something about smelling my feet, about sucking my toes. Thought his command was quite unorthodox but interesting. Kicked off my shoes, exposing dirty flat-footedness I inherited from my Aunt Earline on my dad’s side. My socks were black at the bottom. Held up my leg to show him my feet, my archless thirteens. Took his hand and placed it flat against it. He tugged and held my sweaty foot at his face. He jacked off as he breathed in the odor of soiled socks.

Damn, I thought, the things these guys are into.

I never felt more ridiculous than with myself hiked up on that anonymous face, his nose grazing along the backs of my toes.

“Too bad you’re wearing socks,” he whispered.

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