Wild Talents
by Wrestlr
Chapter 5: Ron
At some point—well after dark, getting late, probably close to midnight, I woke up, sat up. Scotty was still driving, Mitch dozing in the front passenger seat, me in the back, the music player blasting. I noticed that Scotty was driving with only one hand on the wheel; his other was in his lap, lazily rubbing his crotch, as if he was using horniness to keep himself awake. Now that I was awake too, I could practically feel the throbs of arousal rippling out of his thoughts. Scotty’s cock was so stiff and needy. His horniness was contagious, and I felt my own cock start to stiffen. I decided we’d been good boys long enough. We were in the middle of nowhere, still at least an hour outside the city; we’d hoped to be there by midnight, but the city would still be waiting for us if we fell a little behind schedule. We deserved a little fun. Time for a play break.
I leaned forward and slipped my seductive whisper into Scotty’s head: Pull over.
“Mmm,” Scotty moaned as he slowed the car and eased it toward the side of the road. Mitch started to rouse as the tires met the gravel shoulder. Here in the ass-end of nowhere, we could see nothing but trees along both sides of the road, and no other headlights or taillights at all.
Pull it out, I told Scotty.
Scotty unzipped his jeans. No underwear. The head and half his cock-shaft were exposed to the dashboard glow. “So fucking horny,” he hissed. “What about you guys?”
“Right behind you, stud,” I said.
Mitch smiled as he realized what was about to happen—he didn’t know I’d initiated it, but he was definitely ready to participate.
Now the car seemed to be filled with exposed, stiff dicks being stroked. All three of us beat our meat in time with the music.
I opened my door, stepped out. “What’s he doing?” I heard Scotty ask as I stripped off my clothes and tossed them on the seat, but I didn’t hear Mitch’s reply. I waded naked into the pool of headlights in front of the car and waggled my dick at my friends, who immediately climbed out of the car and peeled away their clothing too. The autumn night was chilly, but tolerable. Scotty went to the trunk to get a blanket. Mitch came to me and embraced me, kissed me.
I raised an eyebrow. Say, buddy, as long as you’re here—
How about a blow-job?
My thoughts exactly.
You can suck me too.
Hell, yeah! When Scotty finishes spreading out that blanket, we can sixty-nine!
Scotty watched Mitch and me lie down head-to-crotch and begin kissing and licking each other’s shaft. “Hey, what about me?” he grumped, stroking his hard-on slowly. “I’m horny too.”
You’ll get your turn, came my reply.
You can beat off while you watch, Mitch said.
Scotty complained, “Can’t do much else. You sure I can’t join in? I’m the M.V.P. I saved your butts, remember?”
From Mitch: Stop complaining. You’ve got two good hands. You’ll get your turn in a few minutes.
Me: Yeah—you’ll find some way to keep your dick happy.
“I thought I gave up jacking off when I started fucking your ass.”
A hand is always good for emergencies.
Mitch and I began to lick up and down each other’s shaft. Scotty was aching to push his prick into someone’s mouth, but he didn’t dare interrupt us. He would continue to stroke until Mitch or I gave him the go-ahead by join in. And eavesdropping on us broadcasting head-talk dirty to each other was a real turn-on too for Scotty.
Mitch to me: Gonna suck you now.
Then get down there and suck me, fucker. I’ll match you suck for suck.
Don’t have to tell me twice.
Our two mouths opened wide, and two throats soon became packed with long, hot meat. I took the lead in using various kisses and tongue-flicks on Mitch’s sensitive meat, and Mitch quickly followed suit on mine. Our breaths and slurping noises were loud in the quiet night chill.
“Take it easy, you two,” Scotty grumped. “Save some for me.”
Me: Jealous?
Scotty: “Fuck you. Fuck you both.
Mitch and me in unison: Maybe later—which made us all laugh a little.
I pressed my crotch harder into Mitch’s face, as Mitch’s tongue worked double-time along the shaft of my dick. I forced my mouth all the way down Mitch’s shaft, swallowing and humming around the stalk once my nose nestled against Mitch’s belly.
Suddenly, too soon, Mitch’s body spasmed and crashed his cock against my mouth as he shuddered to a blazing orgasm. That pushed me to my climax point, and seconds later I began my own cum. I almost bit Mitch’s cock as my teeth clamped together from the force. But Mitch’s fate was worse: my cock dislodged from his mouth, and my cum spilled out all over his face.
Both our cocks were still spurting as Scotty finally decided to take the initiative. “My turn.” He pulled my shoulder away from Mitch. “I saved your asses, and now I want my reward.”
Me: So what do you want, Mister M.V.P.?
“Blow me, Ron. That’s what I want. And stay out of my head—none of that funny stuff this time. I just want a blow-job.”
Aren’t you gonna give me a chance to catch my breath?
“Later, after I shoot a load of cum down your throat.”
Can’t turn down an offer like that.
“I said stay out of my head, fucker!”
Okay, no fuck-trance needed for Scotty this time. Maybe he was making progress, though I thought taking absolute control of him with a fuck-trance was a lot of fun.
Scotty stood in the pool of light from his rusty car’s headlights, and I knelt in front of him on the blanket. He offered me his erection, and I opened wide, and he practically punched a hole in the back of my head in his haste to shove his thick cock deep in my throat. Scotty was ramming in and out of my mouth before I even had the chance to get used to the size of his cock. I came off his rod, gagging, and I changed tactics and went after his overheated balls. My sucking at the succulent globes made Scotty moan and press his crotch into my face. While I licked, I reached under the tasty tidbits and ran my finger back and forth across his taint, then up and down his butt slit. Scotty didn’t object, so I moved my fingertip in to find his love-hole. Then I paid Scotty back for that face-pounding by jamming my finger right into his hole, up to my second knuckle. Scotty yipped so loud the night bugs stopped their faint buzzing for a moment.
“Your tongue, man,” Scotty groaned. “Stick your tongue up there.”
I’d licked Scotty’s ass last night, or this morning, or both—all the sex was kind of a blur—and he obviously remembered and enjoyed it, so I decided why not? I pulled my finger out of his butt. Turn around. Bend over and put your hands on your knees.
“Stay out of my head!” Scotty snapped, but he did as I said.
I spread Scotty’s cheeks with both hands and eyed his puckered hole in the headlights. The smooth crack looked too good to be true, and I couldn’t resist diving in tongue-first. With one smooth motion, I lapped across Scotty’s butthole and again and again, and he instantly threw back his head and went incoherent, moaning stuff like, “Aww, fuck, that’s—Fuck!—So—Fuck!—Awwh!” I knew he was trying to tell me how great it felt, and I told him I understood by lapping harder at his bunghole and using a finger to help out around the rim of it. Driving Scotty to the brink of bliss was easy; every time his thoughts lit up about how good something felt, I did that more and then improvised a little for variety.
I caught sight of Mitch, hard again, standing nearby, watching us, stroking himself, swaggering a little closer for a better look, stroking himself more.
I liked the idea of performing for an audience, especially when that audience was Mitch. Again and again, I used only my long, wet tongue, not my mind, to do wild and wonderful things to Scotty’s asshole, and Scotty kept calling out his appreciation. My spit-slick finger went into his sphincter; my digit wasn’t as big as a hard cock, but it was nice and slippery and it could bend to find all the best spots. Scotty moaned as my wet finger turned and twisted in his anal channel while my tongue flicked around the outside of his hole. I reached my other hand under and between his legs to fist the fat cock that was in need of attention. He pressed his ass back against my hand and face. I used the chance to get my finger in a little further—I was going to get Scotty’s ass red-hot and then I was going to fuck it! No way was he going to keep me out of his ass! And once his guard was down, he wasn’t going to keep me out of his mind either. We both knew he wanted it, even if he said he didn’t.
Mitch stood in front of Scotty and presented him with a hard prick. Scotty twisted his torso around a little more and swallowed about a third of Mitch’s long erection. After a few tries, Scotty had Mitch’s cock down his throat as far as it would reach, and I had Scotty’s asshole filled with two fingers as deep as they would go, and I had his dick humming nicely with my hand-strokes. Scotty’s head was sparking all over the place with arousal, Mitch’s too, as they go closer to their inevitable orgasms. Scotty’s cock was throbbing so hard in my hand as if it was going to burst. I kept working his ass with my fingers and tongue. My jaw was starting to ache, and so was the root of my tongue.
Wouldn’t be much longer anyway. Scotty’s nuts were so tight and high that he was going to shoot in less than a minute. Mitch wasn’t far behind. I slipped my thoughts into their minds, so quietly I doubt either of them noticed. No fuck-trance this time, but I was going to make sure they came soon and came hard. Then, once they were all worn out and cooperative after cumming, I’d make them beg me to fuck them—I’ve have my choice of both their asses! Big-dicked Mitch and buff jock Scotty, both begging to be my sluts. Yes, a few little sneaky tweaks, and I had them both gasping and racing toward orgasm. Would they cum at the same time?
Scotty’s ass couldn’t go any higher against my face and hand, and his cock couldn’t get any harder. His mind was ablaze with sensations, and his balls were badly aching. Mitch whimpered happily as Scotty swallowed his pipe in one long gulp and moaned along the whole length of it with his hungry mouth once more. Mitch sucked in a tight, hard breath, trying to stay in control, trying to make it last. Fat chance, Mitch!—Not with me sneaking around in your head.
I did a couple of tricks I’d figured out inside Mitch’s mind, and he felt his balls begin to jump even as his body heaved and writhed against Scotty’s face. Orgasm lit up his mind. One spurt after another of hot cream exploded through his cock and down Scotty’s throat, and Scotty gulped hard. I did the same thing to Scotty, and suddenly he clamped his eyes shut, seeing stars before his closed lids as his climax began and his cum spurted out, coating my pumping fingers around his cock. A little tweak, and the experience of their orgasms stretched out, lasting longer. Instead of cresting and coming down, they both kept right on orgasming. Both of them were cumming long and hard, their nuts squeezing like crazy to shoot out every last drop of sperm.
It was over then, and Mitch pulled his still-throbbing cock out of mouth Scotty’s mouth, and Scotty sank exhausted to his hands and knees on the blanket. Mitch fell to his knees too, both of them spent and gasping the fresh night air. I wove my thoughts inside of Scotty’s head, and he was so distracted and exhausted he never even realized. His expression went blank. My thoughts diffused through Mitch’s head too, and his mind came under my control without even knowing I was in there. There! Two willing slave-puppets for me to play with! I waved my hard-on at them and announced, “Okay, guys, whose ass do I fuck first?”
We didn’t make it to the city by midnight after all.
After a couple of good, healthy orgasms, and probably closer to two in the morning, we were somewhere between the outer suburbs and the city itself. I was exhausted from fucking them, making them want to get fucked, making them forget afterward that I’d taken hold of them, and I slept most of this last leg of the trip. I woke up to Mitch using Scotty’s phone to navigate. He said he had something to show us, a destination in mind, something he’d planned to do if he had ever run away from his old man and his asshole brothers. Now he wanted to share it with us. Okay, whatever—typical Mitch cryptic talk. I was too mind-tired to peek in his mind to see what he had planned.
We stopped at an all-night burger place for food and a restroom break. Scotty went to the counter to order, while Mitch and I hit the restroom. Only one urinal, and I got there first. I pissed, and Mitch waited his turn. He was doing something at the sink, then running water. I finished, zipped, and walked over, in time to see him drop Scotty’s phone into the sink. On purpose. He’d partially plugged the drain with a wadded paper towel and had the sink half full of water—more than enough water to cover and short out Scotty’s phone. The screen flashed, and it went dead.
Mitch explained without me having to ask. Scotty’s parents had been calling and texting for the last couple of hours, since we were long overdue, and Mitch’s asshole dad had tried Scotty’s phone once too. Soon somebody would try tracking the phone’s chip—if it wasn’t Scotty’s parents, it would be cops or the Institute. Now that we were nearly to this place where we could stay the night, Mitch said, we didn’t need the phone anymore. Time to get rid of it. He dropped the phone on the floor and stomped it to crack the case for good measure. On television, people always seem to know which chip to remove to prevent tracking, but neither Mitch nor I had a clue. Shorting and smashing would have to do. Mitch dropped the pieces into the trash can and buried the phone wreckage under some paper towels.
Mitch was right. The phone had to go. Scotty would be majorly pissed when he found out his precious phone was history, so we decided not to tell him for a while.
The coffee was mediocre, but the food was great, and we wolfed everything down. Then Mitch directed us to a place that he said had cheap rooms. He had, he said, looked it up months ago, when he was planning where he’d go if he ever ran away. We couldn’t stay at a regular hotel—the authorities would look there if someone put out missing persons reports on us, and hotels might enter Scotty’s I.D. into a database that authorities could find. Since this other place wasn’t a regular hotel, Mitch said, it would be the last place anyone would look for us. Exactly what we needed. We’d come a pretty long way. This mid-sized city was near the larger city we had decided would be our first destination, and we’d reach it tomorrow, but we had to think long-term, had to make our money last.
Mitch made us park several blocks away and walk to this place. That way, he said, anyone who identified Mister Rust Bucket wouldn’t know where we were. Five blocks later, well, the place sure didn’t look like any hotel I’d ever seen. For one thing, it looked like a warehouse. The simple sign out front had none of the neon and flashy stuff I’d have expected from a hotel, just the name of the place.
Exhaustion made Scotty grumpy, and his question came out like a whine: “Mitch, what’s a bathhouse?”
Mitch was already opening the front door and didn’t answer. We sauntered into the nearly dark front office, and the desk clerk, a skinny blond guy in his late twenties, called out a friendly greeting. “Hey, guys. I haven’t seen you in here before. You members?”
“No, we need to start a membership,” Mitch said. None of us had ever rented a hotel room before—or a bathhouse room, or whatever—and he was trying to act cool, like he did this every day. “Can we get one membership and share it?”
The clerk grinned. Man, there should be a law against being that chipper that late at night. “Trying to save dough, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Sure, I can set you up with one membership. Members can bring guests, so the other two can get in on guest passes.”
“Can we get a room too?”
“You got it. Just one room? I think you should know there’s only a single bed in there. Won’t be much room for three of you. You want more than one room?”
“We’ll be fine. One room is fine.”
The clerk nodded. “You’re easy to please. We don’t get many guys your age. You guys must be brothers or something.” Which seemed like an odd thing to say since Mitch and Scotty and I don’t look at all like brothers. We’re good-looking in different ways, but we don’t look at all like each other. Was he serious? “Most guys who come in here with together wouldn’t dare share the same bed. Guess brothers like you guys ain’t afraid of being called queer.”
Mitch’s jaw stiffened for a moment, then he said, “What’s there to be afraid of?”
The clerk nodded again. “You’re so right. Long as you know you ain’t a fag, that’s all that matters.” I would have sworn he winked at Mitch. Was this guy just making conversation, or was he being serious? Trying to provoke us? Just joking? I was way too tired to figure this shit out.
Mitch took a second to decide and then said simply, “Yep.”
The clerk passed over three clipboards and pens. “Just fill these out.”
Mitch took the clipboards, passed them around, and we each started filling out the short form.
Mitch sent to us: Use a fake name, guys.
I rolled my eyes. No shit, Mitch!
Scotty hadn’t said a word yet, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. I still wasn’t sure whether the clerk was joking, but it didn’t matter. Though his comments weren’t meant as insults to us personally, the words still hit home for Scotty, and for Mitch and me too, and they hurt. Queer, the clerk had said, and fag. The guy didn’t know how close to the mark he was. He was trying to be friendly, but maybe he had no liking for guys who liked other guys? What would he have said if he knew two of us were also Talents? Would he freak out and call the cops?
While the three of us had terrific sex, I could tell from Scotty’s frown and the way he chewed at his bottom lip that he now questioned whether he could handle the name-calling and finger-pointing behind our backs. As a team, and in private, we were proving we could handle pretty much anything life threw at us. But out here where the whole world could see and judge us, well, how was Scotty going to deal with all the prejudice? How were Mitch and I going to deal too? We’d never see this clerk again after we left here, so why did we care what he thought?
At least we didn’t have to think everything out on the spot. Our brains were too sleep-fogged from the late hour, having fucked all day, driven all night—and fucked half the night too—for us to come up with anything worthwhile. Scotty looked at Mitch, pleading silently him to hurry this up so we could get some shut-eye. Mitch nodded slightly at Scotty, acknowledging.
“Now,” the clerk said, “will that be cash or charge? And I’ll need to see your I.D. too.”
“Cash,” Mitch said, and held out his hand to Scotty. Scotty dug his I.D. card and some cash out of his wallet and passed everything to Mitch.
The only I.D. we had was Scotty’s, since that bounty hunter asshole had taken mine and Mitch’s. But if we didn’t want anyone to know who and where we were—?
Got it covered, Mitch thought to me.
He handed his clipboard and Scotty’s I.D. to the clerk. Mitch looked intently at the clerk. I felt Mitch’s telepathy buzz, but I was too head-tired from controlling him and Scotty earlier to have the energy to investigate what he was doing.
The clerk checked the I.D. against the form and entered information into the ancient computer. “Mark ... Peters ... Five ... oh ... seven ... Maple Drive ...”
None of us was named Mark, and none of us lived on a Maple Drive.
The clerk handed the I.D. card back to Mitch. Mitch passed the next clipboard to the clerk—with Scotty’s I.D. once more.
“Mike ... Peters ...” More typing. Then the third clipboard. “Maurice ... Peters ...” The clerk looked up at me. “You don’t look like a Maurice.”
“He gets that a lot,” Mitch muttered, still frowning at the clerk.
Maurice? I was going to murder Mitch for that!
I figured out what he was doing. Somehow Mitch had learned to do what that bounty hunter did to us, and he was doing it to the clerk, making him see whatever Mitch wanted on those forms and the I.D. No matter what the clerk’s eyes actually saw, his mind believed whatever Mitch told him he saw, backed up by a powerful desire not to believe anything to the contrary.
“That’ll be twenty for the membership, fifteen apiece for the entry fee, so sixty five total. Since it’s your first visit and you’re all really cute, I’ll throw in the room for free—no charge.” Another wink, this time aimed at me.
Mitch thanked him and counted off some bills, passed them to the clerk.
A printer sputtered. The clerk handed Mitch something. “Here’s your membership card, Mark.” He reached under the counter and came up with a stack of three folded towels. Three keys on short accordion lanyards, the kind that go around your wrist, on top of that. He pushed the stack toward Mitch. “Locker room’s through there. No clothes, drugs, alcohol, weapons, phones, or cameras allowed beyond the locker room. Leave everything in your lockers—clothes, wallet, everything. The management is not responsible for any loss or theft. You need anything, ask for me. Name’s Thomas. Have fun, guys!”
The lock buzzed, and the door popped open a crack.
“Thanks,” Mitch winked back as he scooped up the towels and keys.
Towels? Locker room? What the hell?
Beyond the door, sure enough, was a bargain-basement version of a locker room. A narrow space with blocks of tiny square lockers against the left wall, a few ancient benches by the right, and another door at the far end.
I looked at Mitch. He shrugged, started taking off his T-shirt, and said, “A bathhouse is a place men go to have sex with each other, and they have rooms with beds for guys who want some privacy. We can have some fun and try a bunch of new things at the same time.”
“Mitch, you should have asked us about this. I know we talked about doing it with other guys, but—”
“You know what?” Scotty interrupted. “I don’t care. You got us a room, right? I been driving all fucking night while you guys slept. As long as there’s a bed I can crash in, I’m good. You two can stand around talking, fucking, whatever, all night long if you want, long as you do it somewhere else and I get some shut-eye.”
We started stripping. None of us was wearing underwear, so our dicks were swinging free the moment our pants went down. Clothing went into lockers. Key lanyards went around wrists. Scotty wrapped a towel modestly around his waist. Mitch threw his over his shoulder brazenly. I considered for a moment, then decided to wear my towel around my waist too, at least until I scoped out the place.
We passed a shower area where an older guy was kneeling before a black bodybuilder and blowing him. Holy crap!—Guys were having sex with other guys right out in the open like that? And then we passed a dark room with wall-mounted televisions showing gay porn, with ten or fifteen guys having what looked like an orgy! Mitch was practically crackling with excitement, but Scotty reminded us, “Where’s our room?”
We found the door number. The room was maybe ten by ten, with a pathetic little mattress barely large enough for one person to sleep on. But I suppose not a lot of sleeping went on in a place like this. That didn’t stop Scotty from declaring, “Wake me in the morning,” and falling face-first onto mattress. He was asleep before his body stopped bouncing.
Mitch and I eased out, shut the door. His exposed cock was half-hard, anticipating. His eagerness was contagious. If he wanted to do this, I could do it too. At least I could have a look around, maybe more. Just the thought of the sex we were about to have was stiffening my joint under my towel. His thoughts touched mine and we made a pact: This was for the three of us. The three of us weren’t married to each other—no need to be faithful, or monogamous, or monotonous. I’d pushed for an experience like this, they’d both agreed, and now for Mitch and me it was about to happen. We agreed—we’d go our separate ways, look around, and take a shot at whatever came our way; we’d do whatever and whoever we wanted, no jealousy, and the only rule was we each had to learn something new to bring back to make our sex life together better for all three of us.
Time to explore. I started off in the shower area we’d passed. I felt grungy after a day on the road and the sex we’d had earlier, and a shower sounded good. Besides, locker rooms and showers were familiar turf. I’d start there and work my way out.
No sign of the older guy and the bodybuilder we’d seen a few minutes before. I had the shower room to myself. I tossed my towel over a bench and stepped under the warm spray. Ah, paradise! I just leaned my head against the wall and let the water drench me.
“Hey,” said a voice as the shower next to me turned on. “My shift just ended. Can I join you? You looking for a friend, Maurice?”
Thomas, the guy from the front desk, except he wasn’t wearing his staff T-shirt now. Naked, wet, smiling at me. And calling me Maurice. I was going to kill Mitch for that.
“Hi,” I replied because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Uh, hi, Thomas.”
“You remembered my name. Cool. Most people don’t. And you’re not really a Maurice either, are you?”
How’d he know? Had whatever Mitch did worn off? “I’m Ron,” I confessed.
“Hi, Ron. That suits you better than Maurice. You’re not from around here. How’d you guys end up at this place? Just happened to be driving by and decided to stop and check it out?”
I chuckled, embarrassed. “Yeah, something like that.”
“You did look kind of surprised when you came in. Guess you didn’t expect to find a place like this. Especially when you’re a long way from home.”
“Yeah. Mitch didn’t tell us anything about this in advance.”
“Mitch—that’s the one who did most of the talking? Are you like him?”
I picked up an image of Mitch from Thomas’ surface thoughts, but somehow I couldn’t seem to get onto his head; I just skated across surface thoughts; something kept me from getting beneath them. Like him?—Did he mean gay or a telepath? Both questions had the same answer, but I hoped like hell he was talking about us being queers and fags. Even if he didn’t like queers and fags, that seemed easier to deal with. If he worked in a place like this, he could at least tolerate queers, but a couple of Talents might be a different matter. “Yeah,” I confessed.
“What about your other friend?”
Scotty. “He’s ... We’re not sure yet.”
“That Mitch, he’s pretty new at it, isn’t he?”
Being gay or being a Talent? Still the same answer, but please-please-please be talking about being gay. “Uhm, yeah.”
“Thought so. I could tell what he wanted me to see when he kept handing me the I.D. card, but I could also see through it to what was real.”
I froze, except for a little choking sound. “You knew he’s a telepath?”
“Well, yeah. What did you think we were talking about?“
“Being gay.”
“Well, that too, obviously. That’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to tell me your story. None of my business. We get a lot of guys who come by to check out the place. They swear up and down they’re not gay. Then they sign up for long-term memberships and show up every week; probably tell their wives it’s poker night with the guys. Sometimes we get newly manifested Talents in here who are on the run from the Institute recruiters too. They’re looking for a place to hide out for the night that’s off the grid, and somehow they got the idea from some Internet site to try a bathhouse because it’s a place that has beds but isn’t a hotel, since most hotels got scanners. They think they can handle being in a gay bathhouse for a night, but sometimes it’s too much. Too much sex. Too much gay. Sometimes they freak out. Happens often enough that my last boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—who has a little bit of telepathic oomph helped me learn some mental defenses, just in case. You might meet him later; his name’s Marcus. He’s good with defense shit. That’s why your friend’s little trick didn’t work as well as he planned, but I didn’t know your story or whether the gay bathhouse thing would be an issue.“
I remembered him saying queer and fag earlier. I’d been really tired, so maybe I’d misunderstood? Maybe he was joking or trying to put a few junior newbies at ease by reassuring them they weren’t gay just because they came to a place like this? “Well, I’m gay,” I said, “and I’m a Talent.” Having the words hover in the air like that felt weird, but also right, like things falling into place. “To tell you the truth, we’re so new to this queer stuff, we were beginning to think we were the only gay guys in this part of the country.“
“Then you’ll be glad to see that you’re not alone. I think all of us have felt that way at one time, regardless of what it’s about. At least you guys have each other.”
“Oh, we’re not ...” What? Boyfriends? Lovers? Except I felt like we were, no matter what Mitch said. Even though I wanted us to fuck other guys to get some experience, I knew we’d always be connected, always come back to each other. But how the fuck did I explain that to someone who wasn’t Mitch or Scotty? “We just share ... Uhm ...” I decided to shut up before I embarrassed myself more.
“Cool. I didn’t mean to rush you. Just wanted to let you know I think you’re cute. I like your body. And I think it’s hot that you’re a telepath. I, uhm, kind of have a thing for telepaths.”
From the way he was grinning at me, I knew where this was going, and I didn’t have to read his mind to know. “None of us ever did nothing like this, except with each other.”
“Cool. You can sample things when you’re ready.”
Now that we were making small-talk, I finally started to get over my nervousness, and I really looked at Thomas. He was gray-eyed, blond, and not bad-looking at all. In fact, seeing him naked and wet, I decided he was cuter than I’d first thought. Tall. Nice smile. A little skinny, maybe, but his lean muscles looked good. He had a quiet confidence around him that I liked too, like a guy who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it, without being swagger-y; his confidence seemed more genuine than the friendliness he had shown at the front desk.
And from the boner he was sporting, he definitely didn’t mind me looking him up and down. Thomas was hung like a horse. Much more cock to him than either Scotty or me, probably long enough to match Mitch’s, and about as thick as Mitch’s too. Thomas’ hand reached down to scratch his balls, making his meat bob. A hard-on like his was a pretty awesome sight. That cock could easily rip my asshole open, but I felt comfortable around Thomas—he seemed like a nice guy who had plenty of experience—so I decided his big dick looked very appealing. My mouth and asshole started to twitch just at the sight of it. This time, when I looked back up at his face, Thomas and I both were wearing shit-eating grins.
Thomas’ ball-scratching turned into something different as his hand wrapped around his tool and started rubbing it. I watched him play with himself, his hand moving slowly up and down along the shaft. I felt all my shyness fading as I watched. My own dick was now at peak hardness too. I wondered how his cock would feel in my hand, and how his hand would feel on my cock—or better yet, how his grinning mouth would feel on my cock.
“So, Ron, how about we get to know each other better? Why don’t you ask me for what you want?”
“Suck my cock,” I declared. Purely by habit, I went into his mind to back up my request with a little compulsion to do what I said—and ran smack into his mental walls.
“Stay out of my head, Ron. That’s not part of the offer. And I said ask, not demand.“
I could have tried busting through his defenses, but I decided to play nice. I pulled back my thoughts. “Would you suck my cock?”
“Say please.”
Dammit, he was going to make me beg for it? Or maybe he was trying to show me that dominance didn’t always involve using telepathy. Either way—fine—I was too horny to argue. We’d play it his way. “Please suck my cock, Thomas.”
That damned grin of his. “Such a cute young guy like you?—How could I refuse?” He sank to his knees. “Fuck, yeah, that’s a beautiful cock, Ron. Do you want me to taste it?” Thomas sputtered through the shower spray, eyes on the prize that reared up in his face.
“Yes. Taste my cock, Thomas. Please.”
“Since you asked nicely ...” Thomas placed his hands on my waist, and I thrust my hips forward a little, grinning as my cock banged against his nose, just before he snatched it by the head with his hungry lips and enveloped the first quarter of my shaft in moist heat.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmured as his velvet-smooth lips slid further down my rod.
Thomas moaned as he began to suckle on the knob between his lips. His wet suction vacuumed at my sensitive cock-head as he transferred one hand to the base of my shank and his other hand crawled up my flat stomach. The kneeling blond began to feed my bone into his mouth, gulping, slobbering, pushing his face down on it, swallowing inch after inch.
Thomas had some skill!—More than Mitch or Scotty, that’s for sure! I had to laugh, amazed at how greedy he was for cock. Now that he had it in his mouth, he obviously wanted as much of it as he could get, and I wasn’t saying no. Not only was he gulping three-quarters of my length, but his tongue danced wildly under and around what he’d managed to swallow! Mitch and Scotty and I had sucked a lot of cock recently, but Thomas obviously had years of cock-sucking experience on us. And then the hand he had been running up my stomach reached my nipple and—ow!—the way he pinched it hurt and felt terrific at same time. I’d paid some attention to Scotty’s and Mitch’s nips, and they to mine, but only as a sidebar to cock-sucking or fucking. What Thomas was doing to my nipple was practically a sex act all by itself. Man, the things he was making me feel with his tongue and fingers!—I could barely concentrate enough to memorize what he was doing. I definitely wanted to do those things to Scotty and Mitch later!
And Thomas was just beginning. Moaning and snuffling under the shower spray, he began to bob up and down along my rod, opening up his pink lips wider than I thought possible, and using his velvety tongue to swab and lick at my shank and the bulbed crown. He was bringing me quickly to the brink of orgasm—
And then he stopped. He let go of my cock and nipple and instead chastely kissed my thigh.
“Why’d you ...?” I bleated.
“Slow down. No need to cum so soon. We’re gonna make it last.” Well, I didn’t argue. He stood up and said, “Your turn.” While my cock cooled down, I got down on my knees under the shower spray and proceeded to do to him everything I’d just learned. His big cock in my mouth made reciprocating difficult, but I did my best. Thomas sure seemed to appreciate my efforts. “You’re doing great,” he assured me, and I must have been, because he was shuddering and obviously getting close to cumming after just a few minutes.
But he didn’t cum. He pushed me back off his dick, and we swapped places again. Five or six times we swapped, going to the edge of orgasm, then backing off, until my balls were so backed-up they felt ready to explode.
Thomas pulled off of me and stood up, only instead of letting me take a turn sucking his dick, he turned off the water, tossed my towel at me, and declared, “Dry off. We’re going to the orgy room. For a telepath like you, that place will be better than any drug you can imagine.”
The orgy room smelled like pot and sweat and sperm and was only dimly lit, but I could see that everyone in there was stark naked—not towel or stitch of clothing to be seen. Must have been nearly thirty guys in there, and most of them sported hard-ons, in a variety of sizes. The guys seemed mostly older, ranging from one or two just a little older than me to several in their thirties and forties. They were there for one thing—to get off—and they weren’t hiding that.
Thomas was right: the sex-thoughts rolling off those guys hit me hard. My skin tingled. My cock throbbed. I was practically drowning under all that lust pouring into my head. I needed a couple of minutes to look around, get my bearings, find a way to handle the flood of feelings. Fortunately, the other guys were so engrossed in what they were doing that no one noticed Thomas or me just standing there.
Thomas saw I was struggling. “You’re gonna be fine. Focus on me. Stay close, and focus on me.”
I pushed my telepathy toward his mind, instead of letting it just be pushed by all of the other incoming thoughts. I felt the cool blankness of his mental defenses and—somehow I felt clearer, like grounding an electric charge, as if having something to pour my thoughts against distracted me from everything else, even if I couldn’t get into his mind. His mental walls felt smooth and solid as ice, buttressed by an interior strength, and I wondered if I could build something like that around my own mind for when I needed it. I sure did have a lot to learn about my Talent. Now, instead of being overwhelmed, I felt merely overstimulated. I could give this orgy room a try. I could look around and really see what was happening, instead of being at the mercy of feeling it.
Couples and trios all over the place. On the furniture, against the walls, and all over the floor. I saw a gray-haired man who looked like he might have been a stockbroker if he had clothes on; he was presently lying on the floor, on his back, with his legs spread. A multi-pierced guy my age knelt over him, feasting on the man’s cock.
Right beside them was another couple that looked like a sandwich as they sixty-nined on their sides.
Over a carpet-covered bench, one blond dude hunkered on his hands and one knee, his other leg straight and anchoring him to the floor, as another guy leaned in behind him and munched on his balls. The munchee’s head was thrown way back, and his mouth hung slack-jawed, waiting to be filled with the stiff dick that a third guy was rapidly lowering to him.
While I watched, a middle-aged construction worker type walked up to a mid-twenties punk, grabbed him by the dick, and led him over to another carpet-covered bench, where the punk promptly lay down on his belly and spread his ass cheeks, an invitation to fuck.
Two slim thirty-ish guys leaned against the wall and kissed. They were joined by a muscular guy who knelt and, instead of choosing between the first guy’s long, slender cock and the other’s short, wide one, simply grabbed onto them both and began stroking. The two men didn’t seem to mind. As they continued their kiss, one of them reached down to caress the stroker’s head.
One guy lying on the floor seemed to be stoned out of his mind. His eyes were closed, and he lay on his back beating his meat. Two other guys with aching hard-ons stood over him, jacking off, obviously about ready to shoot. Then they looked to each other for a signal, and both aimed their cocks right at the guy’s face as they shot. I heard their moans all the way across the room as the sensation of two gushers of cum poured through the waves of sex-thoughts buffeting me.
All these and more. Which studs would I join first? I picked a pair of nearby guys almost at random and started toward them—but Thomas’ hand closed on my bare shoulder. Wait, he thought, out front where he knew I’d pick up on it. You will ask my permission before you join anyone, and you will ask my permission before you cum. You can use your telepathy in order to ask me, and only for that. Keep that telepathy of yours in contact with me at all times, but do not enter my mind or anyone else’s for any reason. Do I make myself clear?
Ordering me around?—Normally I’d have been pissed, but something about Thomas’ casual dominance comforted me. He made taking-charge seem so natural and so right. I said, Yes, and then hastened to add, sir, because I knew he expected that.
Good boy. Have you decided where to start?
I nodded and told him and asked for permission. He glanced at the guys I’d chosen and nodded his approval without hesitation.
I walked over to the pair. The thirty-something who looked like a marathon runner smiled, happy to see a good-looking young guy like me joining them, and the other, a gorgeous olive-skinned hunk with bleached-blond hair, held out his hand, and I took it easily and let him pull me toward his thick hard-on.
A few minutes later: Thomas, may I cum, sir?
Yes.
Ahh!—My balls finally got rid of their backlog.
On and on. I saw nothing but bodies moving all over the place, doing just about every kind of sex I’d ever imagined men could do with each other. I even saw several things that I’d never even known about. This stop on our trip was turning out to be a revelation. Obviously the orgy room was the place to be this time of night.
As a few men left and more guys kept arriving, in twos and threes, the party tempo rose. They all seemed to be regulars, judging from the rapid manner in which they charged right into the crowd with their dicks held high. I joined a pair, or a trio. They came. Once or twice I came too, but always I moved on to the next set of men, and the next. Thomas almost always gave me permission, though he steered me away from one domineering man he called too hardcore. The flood of sexual energy would have overpowered me if not for Thomas, and even so it still had me so buzzed that my cock never went soft, not even after the times I came.
I finally spotted Mitch. He was on his back on one of the carpet-covered benches. The grey-haired man I’d seen in the shower room when we first arrived hunched between his upheld legs, feeding a long, thin cock into Mitch’s ass. Mitch had his head turned so he could suck another guy, and he had an arm outstretched in either direction to stroke the dicks of two others. Four at once?—Go, Mitch! He seemed to love drowning in his new role as their sex slave. His mind had been overpowered; his thoughts were a big mess at the mercy of the horniness radiating off everyone around us. That would have been me too, I realized, if Thomas hadn’t offered me a lifeline. Mitch was too busy and too sex-dazed to notice me watching him work. Judging from the way a new guy took the place of the one he had just sucked to climax, Mitch was going to be occupied for a while. I was definitely going to tease him for the next days about letting himself be turned into a sex-crazed slut!
More and more guys for me to join too. I came—I don’t know; at least four times? Six? More? My balls were empty, so my last couple of orgasms were dry, and my cock was starting to protest from all the friction, and my jaw ached. The time had to be closing in on dawn, though the dim orgy room had no windows; impossible to tell. Everything that was happening to me, around me, became a blur. I was tiring fast. In spite of Thomas’ help, I could feel myself slipping into an overwhelmed state, like Mitch. I could hear Thomas’ thoughts trying to call to me, but I couldn’t pull myself back—didn’t want to pull myself back. I wanted to let go. I was reaching for another hard-on and opening my mouth when I felt myself submerge lost in a sex-daze, and I loved it. Was this what a fuck-trance felt like? No wonder Scotty loved it! Being overwhelmed felt so intense I could see myself starting to crave it, like a drug. Men and more men, all that virility, and me soaking it in. But I was nearing my end-point.
A pair of hands on my arm and shoulder pulled me back from a pair of cocks I was sucking and stroking. “My turn to have him, guys,” a voice behind me said. When I roused from my sex-trance enough to look around, I found Thomas hovering over me, and all I knew was this: I was ready for him now.
I lay on my back with my legs over his shoulders. Plenty of lube allowed Thomas’ big, long cock to slide slowly in and out of my sore, reamed-out asshole. In spite of the ass-pain, I wanted this, wanted it badly. Now that I was focused on him again, my head felt clearer, and I wanted his cock in my ass. He fucked me slowly, long strokes, his cock doing a lot of really great-feeling things up inside my ass that Mitch’s similarly sized appendage hadn’t hit in all the times we’d fucked. I tried to pay attention, because I wanted to make sure I could guide Mitch through doing all those things later, but I kept slipping, fading, then coming back again.
“Stay with me, Ron,” Thomas said.
“Yes ... sir ...”
I liked having Thomas so close to me, liked having his face hovering over me. It felt ... comforting and somehow right. Like I’d always heard falling in love should feel, though we’d just met and I couldn’t possibly be in love with him, not yet. Thomas bent down to reach my mouth. We kissed. He was good at that too—better than Mitch or Scotty. Man, there’s a lot to be said for an experienced lover. I was right to have Mitch and Scotty and I try new guys—no way would we learn this kind of stuff this fast on our own! I followed Thomas’ lead, and our two tongues danced against each other. I reached my hands to his chest to explore and do to him some of the things I’d learned about nipple-play tonight. I was determined to show him I’d learned to do them well.
Thomas guided me through a change in position; now I was on my hands and knees on the carpeted bench as he fed his cock into my ass. I looked around for Mitch and didn’t see him. No clue what time it was—early morning—after dawn, maybe? The crowd had started to thin out. I didn’t see Mitch, but Scotty was awake and had joined us. I saw him on the other side of the room, sitting on a bench against the wall, between the punk-looking kid and the olive-skinned bleach-blond dude. Scotty had his towel clinched tightly around his waist—he was the only guy in the room with a stitch of clothes on. The three of them were sharing a joint; the tip glowed red as Scotty sucked in the smoke. I knew how much Scotty liked pot, though as a serious athlete he didn’t indulge in it too often. One of the guys said something and they all laughed.
Then Thomas’ cock did something extra-specially nice in my ass that snapped me back to our sex, and I gasped. I arched my back and would have cum, except that Thomas froze and stayed still until my balls eased off. The smell of pot and sweat and cum, the blaze of sex still filling the space and me too made the whole room reel, but Thomas kept me anchored. I’d learned a lot of about sex tonight, and I already felt more mature and manly for it. I felt like I knew exactly what was expected of me. I loved the feeling of his body against mine, in mine, the way his mind felt when I touched it. I felt like I belonged here. I liked the idea of belonging to Thomas. I leaned closer to his face. “I’m really starting to like you.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s the atmosphere in here. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“No, I mean it. I think you’re—Ahh!” I gasped as he gave a little hip-jab that introduced his cock to my prostate again. “Fuck! May I cum, sir?”
“No.” This was the first time Thomas had really refused me, though his playful grin told me he had more in store. He slid his oversized cock out of my ass. “Turn over.”
Back to me on my back with Thomas holding my legs high and spread as he slow-fucked me. My erection kept thumping against my stomach, and I didn’t dare touch my cock, but even those little taps were pushing me closer and closer to cumming. I looked around for a distraction, needed to think about something other than shooting. What I saw was Scotty, still sitting on that bench and sucking on a joint—it must have been a new one because it was longer than the one I saw before. His erection poked up unmistakably against the front of his towel—pot always did get Scotty horned-up—and the punk dude was kneeling between Scotty’s spread knees and was in the process of reaching up and opening the towel knot. The other guy, the bleach-blond, played with Scotty’s nipples, then leaned in to lick and kiss the closest one. Well, it looked like Scotty was learning something to bring back to Mitch and me too!
Scotty blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. Emboldened, the punk dude pulled open the flaps of Scotty’s towel like he was unwrapping a birthday gift, leaving Scotty fully exposed, naked now. Scotty’s stiff cock bobbed up in the air as the punk eased his mouth toward it. Knowing I was watching Scotty surrender his body to be used by the first men other than Mitch or me, knowing how horny pot made him, knowing he’d soon be cumming down that punk’s throat—all that made me want to reach out my mind and—fuck-trance—reach out and—
“Ow!” I barked when Thomas slapped my thigh. My head cleared a bit as I glared at him.
Whatever you were thinking, don’t. Stay with me.
Yes, sir!
Now I focused on moving in tune with Thomas’ deep cock-strokes in my ass. “I’m getting close,” he hissed.
“Not yet,” I responded, my turn to refuse him. “Fuck me deeper. Harder. More, Thomas. More!”
Thomas grabbed my ankles and pushed them up, then toward my head. Now my body was bent nearly in half, and that big dick of his could not possibly go deeper inside my ass than it was now. The constant downward pressure made me feel as if I would burst, but I kept right on moving along with Thomas as best I could. I felt like I was being pounded into a sexual heaven where only the sensation of getting fucked mattered. I could tell Thomas was reaching his own limit, and I wanted him to cum—I wanted us to cum together.
“Come on, Thomas; fuck my ass.”
And he moved even faster, and faster and faster. His cock in my tender butt felt like it was moving with lightning speed, sending little shocks of pleasure through me. I wrapped my hand around my dick; I wouldn’t need many strokes to bust.
May I cum, sir?
First, come into my head, Ron. I want to feel what you feel, and I want you to feel what I feel. You may come into my head to share that experience with me, but only for that purpose. Understand?
Yes, sir.
I felt Thomas’ mental wall ease down, an act of trust. I could have done anything I wanted—gone through his memories, taken control of his thoughts—and for a split second I considered doing some mischief because that’s always been who I am. But I needed to cum badly, and I didn’t have more than a few seconds, and I liked Thomas too much to break my word.
Now, kid, now!
Yes, sir, Thomas!
Both our orgasms began, his first, and our cocks began to shoot, his in my ass, mine barely managing to pump the last few drops my spent balls had managed to build up out onto my dick-head. Everything got more intense, spiraling higher and brighter, as everything seized up and nothing existed but the pleasure, his, mine, without regard to where who came from or who experienced it. Sharing intensified everything. Upward, stronger, still stronger, cresting, then cycling down, panting, fading, our bodies going limp, orgasm ending, us coming back to the real world. And not a second too soon, because I was just about ready to collapse—no, Thomas was ready to collapse—those were his feelings. Every muscle in his body was sex-loose and aching, and he longed to lie down and sleep. My feelings were the heavy fucked-out limpness in my arms and legs, the sore ass, the aching back, the need to stretch my bent-upward legs. I slid my thoughts out of Thomas’ head as he began to pull his softening cock out of my ass. I was already missing the way his dick filled me.
Sleep sounded good to me too. Aside from naps in the car, I’d been awake all night. Maybe I’d just shut my eyes for a moment—
Thomas slapped my cheek sharply but not too hard. “Ow,” I protested.
“Before you pass out on me, kid,” Thomas murmured, “there’s something really important you need to do. You need to talk to Big Marcus.” His mental walls were back, but I picked up a mental image of the black bodybuilder. “Then come find me afterward.”
Why the hell did Thomas want me to talk to Big Marcus, especially at a time like this? I couldn’t tell, but I said, Yes, sir!