Summary of this Story:
After a stuffed barbecue at Mayor Garcia’s Olympic-sized pool in Scottsdale, Officer Anderson suited me up in light gray Armani and pink silk briefs for Victor Wolfe’s client dinner at Del Frisco’s. Julius locked a stainless steel cock cage on me in the alley, the heavy ring tugging my balls roughly before we met Max and Madeline Stone. They recognized me from Club Royale’s spit-roast. At Wolfe’s Mulholland pool house, Madeline controlled the orgy, skull-fucking me while riding them, denying the key until I rimmed and serviced desperately. Release came shattering as I finally rammed her ass on Lake Tahoe’s yacht dawn, pent-up agony exploding in white-hot relief amid Wolfe’s rumbling snores.
Here is your Story: The throbbing cage and its shattering release
Chapter 25
The barbecue fizzled out after burgers. Ramirez’s grilled patties knocked everyone flat. People shoveled in seconds, thirds even. Nobody hit the pool afterward. I’d ditched the Speedo for Levi’s and a faded Yankees tee before eating. Now I slumped at a patio table by the Olympic-sized pool at the mayor’s place in Scottsdale, belly drum-tight. Jeans pinched my waist. Dick soft at last. That edge dulled under the meat haze. All I wanted was this Adirondack chair and the sharp bleach whiff from the water.
“Man, I gotta crash,” Hernandez said. His chair legs rasped across the concrete patio stones.
“Nap time, yeah!” Mayor Garcia pushed to his feet with a grunt.
“Hang on, Mr. Mayor. I’ll get you back to your condo,” Hernandez offered.
They pulled me into hugs, planted kisses on both cheeks. “Let’s do this again soon,” the mayor murmured, holding my gaze a second too long.
“Count on it. Big guy.” My tone dipped husky.
He squeezed my butt cheek. They headed out. Left me alone with Officer Anderson. Ramirez hosed down the Weber grill, clanging spatulas into a plastic bin.
Anderson stacked paper plates, ducked inside the screened porch.
My phone rattled on the table. Text from Julius, Mr. Wolfe’s right-hand guy. Wolfe needed me for dinner. Schmoozing clients. Arm candy duty. Suit up.
“Everything okay?” Anderson asked, eyeing my smirk.
“Wolfe’s got me lined up as his plus-one tonight. Big clients.”
“About damn time. We could use eyes inside. I’ll swing you by your apartment to change.”
“No suit in my closet. Grew up on Venice Beach, board shorts, wife-beaters, that’s it.” My face burned under the collar.
“We’ll hit Men’s Wearhouse en route. On your feet.” He stood.
Chapter 26
The silver Bentley Continental swung past the valet stand at Del Frisco’s. Veered into the service alley out back. Rear entrance reeked of side-chick pickup. Didn’t faze me, I’d worked plenty alleys.
Anderson chose the suit: light gray Armani, pink silk shirt from Nordstrom. Matching pink silk bikini briefs too. “Reminds me of that Speedo on you,” he said. Footed the $1,200 bill.
“Put this on.” He pulled a blue velvet box from his jacket. Inside sat a sterling silver St. Christopher medal. Dented edges, chain kinked. “Wore it on deployment. Brought me home. No idea what’s waiting.” Dropped me at my studio off La Cienega. Julius arrived dead on time, no directions asked.
Bentley tuxedo driver impressed. He looped around, popped the rear door without a word. Recognized me cold. Parked in the alley shadows. Palm flat on my sternum. “One stop first.”
Shoved me against the fender. Unzipped my fly, snapped the button, dragged pants to my knees. Peeled the pink briefs. Ass cheeks hit cool alley pavement. Routine Tuesday.
He unpacked the stainless steel cock cage. Tight fit. Hurt bad. Heavy ring circled my dick base, balls tugged through the gap rough. Cage locked on, tiny gold padlock snicked shut. Dick ballooned against the bars right away. Agony brewing. Key vanished into his slacks. “Behave, key’s yours.” Door swung wide. Back seat.
We pulled up front. Valet swarm: crisp white linens, waiters in black bowties over starched dress shirts, entrees stacked like Jenga with microgreens. Suit hung perfect amid fork tings on china. Cage ground my nuts, rich fuck’s plaything, that’s my lane.
Julius marched me through gawking diners. Corner booth: Mr. and Mrs. Stone from Club Royale. Dick pulsed trapped. Her cock choking me, his fist up my ass, memories slammed. They’d spit-roast me on the white oak table, crowd whooping? Hell yes.
“Mr. Wolfe, Mr. and Mrs. Stone, James Parker.”
Wolfe scooted a chair. “Grab a seat, James. Max Stone and Madeline.”
“We know each other,” Madeline purred. Max gripped firm. She pecked my lips wet.
“Club Royale last night. Hope it was as good for you.” Her smile slithered.
“You went back?” Wolfe raised a brow.
“Got restless. Found company.”
Chat tiptoed mines. “You take James to the club, Victor?” Madeline prodded.
“Kinda. Wanted to check him out. Sebastian grabbed him. We hit it off.”
“Thank Sebastian properly next round.” Clean words, dirty underbelly. Precum slicked my cage tip.
“What’s your line, James?” Madeline pivoted.
“Actor. Theater degree. Gigs dried up.” Bullshit, this hustle bankrolled rent.
“Good break. They produce films,” Victor cut in.
“Real lucky!” I dialed up charm.
“Indie stuff now. Scaling up,” Madeline added.
“How’d you two connect?”
“Victor’s our talent spotter. Handles casting.”
“Supplies who they want.”
“Casting couch king. Agent on the side.”
“Just flew in Fernando from Miami. Huge… presence. Big in Latin clubs. Victor smuggles stars.”
“Tough from Miami?” Play stupid, probe.
“US embargo bullshit. Contacts run tequila, cigars. Talent too, VIP list.”
“Easy?”
“Right palms greased.” Chuckle rolled.
Server jotted drink orders. Madeline scooted close. “James, headline our next shoot. Pair with Fernando. Take that monster dick? Grand for ten minutes.”
“Whoa.”
“Full gonzo. Hard slams. You handled it at the club. We block scenes upfront. Limits honored.”
“Game for most. Rough works.”
Drinks hit wood. “To our fresh talent!” Glasses lifted.
“Hold up. Test run tonight,” Max said.
“Club not proof?”
Foxy smirk. “We double-check.”
“After dessert, my pool house. James demos skills,” Wolfe declared.
“I’m in!”
“Done deal. Cheers!” Crystal chimed.
At Wolfe’s Pool House
Julius pulled up in a blacked-out Escalade stretch, ditching the Bentley. Winding drive up Mulholland. Sweeping pad fronted Wolfe’s glass-walled estate. Infinity views over LA basin and Pacific. Brutalist vibe: poured concrete columns, I-beams raw. Escalade idled on the slate entry.
Foyer wet bar. Julius poured highballs neat. Wolfe steered us to the backyard terrace. Pool lit electric blue from underwater LEDs, lights throbbed lazy. Landscape spots glowed palm fronds: jasmine heavy in air, crickets rasping. Chaise lounges circled the deep end.
Wolfe shucked clothes at one. Stone matched at the next. Arms folded behind necks. Madeline snagged my wrist, parked me between stiff cocks. Stripped me down to pink briefs. Fingers traced my ribs in the canyon breeze. Skin prickled tight.
Julius balanced a tray: drinks, Astroglide bottle. My gin and tonic, Club Royale house pour, heavy on Tanqueray. He nailed habits. Wolfe skipped small talk. Julius ran that rail. Me? Hungrier tastes.
Guys lounged, sipped Beefeater. Madeline swayed, me as her stripper pole. Arched back, peeked over shoulder. Zipper whispered down her crimson sheath, dress puddled at heels. Black lace demi bra, thong, thigh-highs sheer.
She rolled ass on my pouch. No telltale ridge, her fat cock tucked pancake flat. Speedo tricks? Amateur hour.
Fingers hooked my waistband. Cage swung free. Dick jammed steel. I buckled, grabbed a lounger arm. Pain stabbed low.
“Julius, key for Mr. Parker’s hardware?”
“Right here, ma’am.” He passed it over.
No release. Key slid into her bra cup. She tugged my hair, knees smacked tile. Crotch mashed my face. Panties ground nostrils, laundry musk thick. She ripped them aside, cock whapped my jaw. Fingers vise skull, drove balls-deep. Choked wet. She skull-fucked relentless.
Men pumped slow, eyes locked. Mouth grew stale. She hauled me vertical, ass cheeks on cage. Fire lanced groin. Had to escape. Cock ached to plow her or explode.
“Please, ma’am, unlock it!”
“You wanna pound me?”
Brain shorted. Grip slipped.
“That’s right. Rim me first, earn it.”
Knees ground stone. Nose in crack. Tongue punched rim, swirled frantic inside. Dick battered bars pointless.
She spun, yanked me upright. To Max, stroking lube-gloss cock. She mounted, impaled slow. Dragged me between splayed thighs. Suck nuts. Lap her stretched hole. Slurped his shaft next. She gripped my head, he throat-plowed through her control.
Wrist yanked to Wolfe’s chaise. Lube poured cold. She straddled, ass swallowed him whole. Locked my arms back. Jackhammered my face on his meat. Pace brutalized. Who cracked? Wolfe, growled, hips snapped, load jetted hot inside me.
Shoved my torso down, chest on his thighs. Tongue invaded my hole, vacuumed his spend.
Back to Max. Rode identical. Controlled bounce. He popped fast. Chest flop, her cock speared my ass over him. Hugged me vise-tight. Short thrusts, yanked free.
Bra key dangled. “That’s it.”
Legs shook standing. Gold lock sprang. Cage ripped off, base ring gripped dick and nuts. She sprawled on Max, thighs wide.
“This yours? Fuck my ass.”
Fuck yes. Dropped low, rammed home. Skull sparked white. Balls backed up since alley. She stroked frantic, blew first, cum ropes striped her abs, bra cups. Ass ring milked. Mine erupted, pent-up torrent.
Chapter 28
I woke bare in Wolfe’s grip. Cheek on his pec, rising with each rumble. Yacht deck on Lake Tahoe. Post-pool haze: we’d fucked senseless, he hauled me aboard somehow. No memory of Stones bailing. Egyptian cotton sheets, no dried flakes, someone scrubbed us down.
Mattress cradled against his slab build. Chest hair tickled damp skin. Fingers traced his six-pack ridges. Morning wood tented thick. Dinner schmooze, meet-cute, valet lift? Worth a wake-up tug.
Slid sheets aside. Hand clamped root. Lips stretched over purple head. Wolfe snorted once, fingers knotted my hair. Gin last night’s bite lingered on his pubes. The St. Christopher medal chain scraped my knuckles as I bobbed lower. Deck wood creaked under shifting weight. Tahoe pines scratched the railings with wind gusts.
