Saturday night was a riot, I spiked his drink with rohypnol back at the bar then spent the majority of it on my knees blowing off some straight young-guy who's drink shrunk back into it's gonadal sack when it copped an eye-full of my erect cock protruding from my sparkly spunk-stained cocktail dress. The look on his face before passing out was priceless.
Then after cleaning out the drug cabinet, we both slept till Monday afternoon.
When he woke , I asked him for help to deflate and fold up Lucas, when he ambled down the hallway partially hunched over clutching his drained sacks with one hand, corking his rectum with his index finger with the other... moaning about his back passage and having been unconscious for 2 days. Now he was stiff, alright, but in all the wrong places.
Folding Lucas was an ordeal for him but i tried to be encouraging..."I think Lucas likes you Pete, he normally deflates spontaneously of his own accord." Pete began retching, his abdominals twisting violently before my eyes ... and like an alien, crawled like a spider on all fours to the en suite bathroom and began vomiting last nights pleasures whilst I lay fondling myself on the bed reminiscing about Saturday night.
"Remember the last time I flopped my cock out Sweety?" I asked him when he returned ... "They took you away on a stretcher. It will happen again if you stop moving. This will be good for you."...
Pete scolded...
"You're asking me if I remember? How the fk can I forget being loaded into the ambulance after you gave me a rectal tear with your fist?. I was lucid you know....you always do this when I am vulnerable."
I then replied...
"And you improved remarkably when the blonde plumber suggested a suppository. That WAS funny."
All day no kiss. No cuddle. No "I love your scrawny arze". Nothing. Yet someone was texting him over and over and he kept disappearing into the bathroom to chuck up last nights passions.
The phone rang...
"Who was that?"... he squelched from the bedroom ensuite ....
"Oh, that's just roo, sending some filth again". I replied.. she hates missing out on the action.
Come 5 'ish he was getting cheeky. He came over to me while lay here on my bed, crushed his lips against mine and holding a knife to my throat...at which point I asked for another fuck.
"No. I'm not going to do it....it was a mistake, I am straight, you sick gay-fuck trevy, I have a wife and 3 kids at home who probably think i'm dead"...... He was deliberately provoking me now because he knew i was busy circling the head of my dick with my index finger..*oops, pre-cum* . Sometimes he's a child like that. He enjoys distracting me because deep inside he's a gay masochist and gets off on my abuse....but other times I think he just needs a place to sleep, living in a tent in the backyard the way he does.
Mon 15 Feb 2010 - 5:19