Hope squealed and then gasped when the fat head of his cock sunk into her.
"Shhhh, stay still now. That was the worst of it," Ryan soothed, praying it was true. She hugged him tighter than anything he'd ever experienced. It felt like an elastic band tugged beneath the head of his cock. The muscles of her anus writhed around him, subtly trying to push him out of her body. He needed to apply a firm pressure not to be ejected. Her heat resonated into him like a furnace, making him wild with longing to submerse his cock completely in that tight channel.
"Are you ready?" he asked gruffly.
He saw her nod.
"Then press back again."
This time while she pressed he reached around and massaged her clit. She howled in mounting excitement and pushed his cock into her several more inches.
"That's a girl," he murmured as he continued to stimulate her even while he held her hip and began pumping in and out of her ass gently.
It was really too much to take. Later on, Ryan couldn't think where he'd possibly found the reserves to endure it.
But endure it he did.
FOURTEEN
The viewing room grew uncomfortably hot.
Jack had long ago let Daire's unusual weapon drop to his side as he stood with his eye glued to the peephole. Subdued grunts, gasps and slurping sounds filled the still, stifling, windowless room. He watched, just as enthralled as the other five men in the room (for the photographer kept lowering his camera and staring slack-jawed through the largest hole in the wall) as the man who'd brought down the mighty Mario in the ring breached an even more unconquerable foe.
"I don't believe it," Mason muttered every minute or so, despite the fact that Jack and Ambrose had hissed at him to be quiet at least a half a dozen times each.
All of the men except for Jack and the photographer had whores kneeling before them.
Even Divorak, the photographer, couldn't keep his hand out of his pants, although Jack had threatened to throw him into a room with Big Mario if he missed Hope Stillwater's most photogenic moments because he was playing with himself. Every time one of the men shuddered in orgasm while his whore slurped away at his cock, Jack grated his teeth in a strange brew of lust, irritation and envy.
It'd been several years since he participated in any type of communal sex. After a few instances of furious humiliation because his cock refused to respond as usual, he'd sworn off public and private displays altogether. Jack had traveled all the way to Indianapolis the year before last in order to have a specialist tell him how to get his cock to full working order again. It wasn't that Chicago didn't have plenty of good doctors, but Jack couldn't take the risk of his secret weakness being broadcast onto his home turf. Jack ruled in the first ward. Fools believed a man who couldn't nail a tail good and hard couldn't get things accomplished, couldn't send fear into men's hearts.
But Jack had shown them. If anything, he'd become more fearsome and ruthless ever since his body had betrayed him.
The damn doctor in Indianapolis had explained to him that there was something amiss with his blood, something that wo
uld eventually make his organs and eyes fail in addition to just his cock. He told Jack to stop smoking cigars and drinking whiskey.
But Jack could tell the physician didn't really know what the hell was wrong with him or how to fix it. He wasn't going to allow some tottering, gray-haired fool to tell him how to run his life.
Even though he couldn't take his pleasure as he used to, Jack had become almost obsessive about watching, always looking, searching for a display that would quicken his cock as he recalled. Usually he searched in vain.
Until tonight that is.
Watching that big, muscular paddy with the thick, long dick make Hope Stillwater scream with pleasure had definitely gotten the blood flowing into his cock in a way he hadn't experienced in years. He waited and watched, but his excitement didn't diminish as it often did. It only grew exponentially as he stared—afraid to even blink—while Daire coaxed the elegant beauty to submit to the crop, the flogger and the paddle.
Now it looked as if he was preparing to sodomize her.
When both Sinclair Ambrose and Lewis Lander shuddered in orgasm as they watched the mick hold the little minx's squirming bottom still and penetrate her asshole with his fingers, Jack finally dared to speak.
"You two—Mel and Betsey. Get over here," he ordered quietly, nodding to the floor before him. Betsey tried to move back off Lander's cock but he held her in place while his body continued to convulse, his penis pressed into her deep, his eye never wavering from the peephole. He finally went limp and released her. Betsey leaned back gasping, an obvious look of distaste on her face as she still struggled to swallow Lander's cream.
"Get over here, I said," Jack hissed, furious that the whores had hesitated even for an instant given who he was and how infrequently he made such a request.
Mel reached him first and knelt before him, unfastening his pants quickly and efficiently.
"This is a treat, isn't it, Betsey? Such a big, beautiful cock," Mel cooed as she licked the head of his penis.
"Shut up and suck," Jack muttered, sick to death of whores' dramatics. They'd tell a half-rotten leper he had the cock of a god if there was a buck in it for them. These two regularly did precisely that for that drunken lush Mason, whose cock was nearly as limp and unresponsive as his brain. The young fool paid Jack enormous amounts of money every week for unlimited use of his whores. Not that it took much away from the prostitutes' time or Jack's profits because the rotter was usually too soused to do anything but pass out in one of the beds upstairs, his mouth slobbering around a bare breast.