The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 11 - Sex Stories

The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 11

... blow, and I guess I was the first. He's ugly as sin, but my god, what a mouth."

Pete, standing nearby and overhearing, raised a sceptical eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

"Wait. No way was he as good as you, Pete," Ace clarified. "If fellatio was an Olympic sport, you'd win gold for America. But he was eager, enthusiastic, and sloppy as fuck. Anyway, I know it's meant to be a bate room, but..."

"Why does it matter if dudes get blown or even fuck in there?" asked Pete. "If I was jacking off next to a stranger, I'd at least be looking at his cock and asking if I could touch it. Maybe ask Candii what the rules are?"

Ace stroked his chin. He remembered seeing a basket of rubbers on a table. If the room was purely for masturbation, why would there be condoms? "I haven't seen her since last night, and she was already gone when I woke up this morning."

Ace's train of thought drifted away. He thought about her. Even though he shared a room with Candii last night, he wasn't sure where he stood. Maybe it was just for one night, and besides, she was monumentally busy right now organising the tour and today's show. Maybe it was best to let events play out as they may.

*

Night began to fall. Beta Clinic's set was immense, and Kuntlapper mopped up afterwards. The crowd was going nuts. Carlos, Ace and Pete were all backstage, but from their vantage point, they could see the bate room. It was active, but Ace couldn't tell from this distance ...

... whether the trailer park Texan was still there.

It was dark. They heard an ominous, rumbling synth note that was deep enough to penetrate souls.

Hypnosissy took the stage in complete darkness. A slow, churning drumbeat began. The bass guitar joined in, completing the droning, dark rhythm. A wailing guitar sailed across the top before joining the beat in a tight, metallic lockstep. Behind them, on a giant screen, a hypnotic spiral began. Images of male chests, torsos, thighs, calves, asses, testicles and penises began to appear.

Carlos stood behind Pete. As the slow, pounding riff penetrated their skins and their souls, neither of them could tear their eyes away from the explicit visuals of male sexual fantasy.

Pete reached back and looped a desperate thumb into his boyfriend's belt. "Bate room," he said. "Now." Carlos had no time to respond. Pete grabbed his boyfriend's hand and led him along.

They opened the door to find maybe fifteen long-haired metalheads jacking off languidly, but the mood changed dramatically when a cock-hungry dude appeared in the middle of the room, pulled his jeans down to his ankles, and assumed the position.

Carlos ate his boyfriend's ass for a few seconds and spat on his own dick before entering him.

Most of the bate room crew recognised the sexy long-haired Mexican from Ass To Mouth, and they wondered if they were about to get an up-close display of their band name. Nobody was sure who the bottom was.

Ace followed them to the ...