SEVEN HITS! Get Your Ass Ready! (7 page)

The man getting fucked was probably groaning or even shouting, but Beck couldn’t hear anything. The motel was in a crowded, busy part of San Francisco, right on Market Street, and it was ten o’clock on a Thursday night. There were bars all around the area and people were outside on the sidewalks shouting, smoking, laughing.

You’d think everyone would be home getting ready for work tomorrow, Beck had thought just before that, then he remembered how many people in the city didn’t work an ordinary office job like he did. The roar of cars on the freeway nearby added to the din, and motel guests were hanging out on the balconies, the doors to their rooms wide open. This place was party central, he thought.

Beck had made two mistakes, he realized as his hand shakily fumbled the key card into the lock. He’d neglected to see if there were any conventions in town before setting up a business meeting at the last minute, so he’d thought he could surely get a room with no problem this time of year.

And when he discovered he’d been shut out of the better hotels, he’d booked the room at the VacaLodge
without looking at the travel site’s reviews. The location had sounded convenient, wasn’t in a “bad neighborhood,” so what was the worst that could happen?

This place is a dump
, he realized as he entered the room, the smell of old smoke and mildew tickling his nostrils. The room was bare bones. There was one full-size bed, a nightstand, a rickety “desk” and chair, and an old tube TV.

He investigated the bathroom – tiny, not very clean, stains in the shower and thin, scratchy towels, the kind only someone desperate or compulsive would steal.

What seemed like a loud argument in the next room turned out to be, as he stood still to listen, just a loud conversation – the walls were that thin. He could hear every word of a drug deal gone bad, two men arguing about whether the cost of the sack was fifty bucks, or fifty bucks and a blow job, and it better be a hell of a blow job. He almost thought he could hear the two men he’d seen fucking from two rooms away.

He set up his laptop and his hotspot on the little desk. Wisely, he didn’t trust the motel’s wifi to work, or to be secure if it did. Out of curiosity he went to some travel sites and pulled up the motel’s reviews.

“This place is a whorehouse! Guys are cruising all night long and will look in your window if you don’t shut your curtains!” Beck had to laugh at that – well, shut your fucking
curtains, moron! “This is not a place where people check in to go to sleep.” “Terrible security, men were cruising for sex all night long. Yelling all night long from the bars. People ‘partying’ next door. Motorcycles coming and going in the parking lot.”

Beck sighed. It was probably going to be a long night. One last review caught his eye. “This place is notorious for one thing especially – straight guys looking for gay guys to suck them off, or more. They get high and horny and then come around to cruise the rooms late at night. Beware! I got robbed!”
Yeah, he thought, after you let the guy in your room, and sucked him off, right?

Beck unpacked his toiletries and stripped to his briefs. Even in the sickly fluorescent light of the bathroom, he looked pretty good, he thought. He was a successful guy in his mid-twenties, who took good care of his body. He couldn’t help but compare himself to the naked guy he’d seen in the room down the way.
How would I look with my legs in the air, curtains open?
he thought with a smile. Pretty fucking good, he decided.
Not that I’d ever do that
.

He thought about changing and going out to the gay bars. He wondered if he should lock his computer in the trunk of his car. He didn’t plan on bringing anyone back here – he wasn’t much for anonymous hookups but it could be fun just to have a couple beers and check it out, since it looked damn busy out there for a weeknight.

And besides, his meeting wasn’t till ten tomorrow morning, so he could sleep in…assuming the noise outside and in the rooms around him would die down
sometime
and let him sleep at all.

He put his suitcase on the bed and started going through it for his bathroom stuff. A loud thump from upstairs made him drop a rolled-up pair of socks on the floor, which he accidentally kicked under the bed. He got down on his hands and knees to get them and saw a little suitcase under the frame.

“What the fuck?” he said out loud, then wondered if the next room could hear that, too. But they had moved on from arguing over the drug deal, and were now getting high and arguing over who was taking a bigger hit off the pipe. He pulled the suitcase out, put it on the bed next to his own, and opened it.

“Damn,” he whispered. Someone had left their…sex kit behind. He carefully lifted each item, just in case there were any nasty surprises in there. But it was all clean, almost tidy – a chain harness, cock rings, a couple unopened bottles of lube…a pair of handcuffs, the real deal, Beck thought, feeling their weight. And the keys to go with them.
That’s good – that is, if the guy who cuffs you lets you out…

At the bottom of all this was a laptop with a 17 inch screen. Beat up, scratched, but intact with power supply.
Bet it’s got some guy’s carefully curated porn collection on it
, Beck thought.
Only one way to find out.

He thought about taking it down to the office, but then realized, nobody was looking for this. Someone had come and had their fun and left this all behind.
What the hell, let’s see what’s on this puppy.

He moved the suitcases to the floor, put the laptop on the bed and plugged it into the outlet. He fired it up, expecting to see a login screen that would put an end to his exploration. But there was no password, no owner name, just “User,” so he clicked it. There was just one folder on the desktop, clearly and shamelessly labeled PORN.

He opened it up, but the list of movies didn’t tell him anything – it was just 01, 02, 03, save for the first track, which was titled 00 JUST HIT PLAY ALL. So he clicked Play All in the Explorer window menu. VLC Media Player started up.

The next thing he knew, he was watching a pair of skinheads in tight black polo shirts, jeans and suspenders as they roughly handled a pretty young man down a flight of stairs into a grungy basement. Then they duct taped his wrists together, and threw him face down on a dirty black platform. They took turns on him, one
dom
top’s hands shoving his face into the other’s bulging crotch, and vice versa. They growled at him in German, but the meaning was clear enough – you love this, don’t you, you dirty little bitch, and the delirious, stunned look on his face made it clear that yeah, he sure fucking did.

Beck was getting hard. He’d always been curious about the rough stuff, but had never dated anyone who’d been into it. These guys were…intense. And the dude was
loving
it, totally drooling when they slapped him around, his mouth wide open in silent appeal, the universal language, “Please, let me have those cocks right here.”

What the hell. Might as well save the bar tab and just beat off…

He picked up one of the cock rings, a pair of black rubber rings joined at one edge, and pulled one ring over his balls and his dick through the other. It was tight but in a good way. Beck wondered who’d worn it last, where it had been, and the thought should have disgusted him, it excited him instead. He pulled off his underpants and lay down on the bed, adjusting the laptop next to him so he could watch as he opened a bottle of the lube.

The skinheads on the screen were getting rougher now, swilling beer and spitting it into their sub’s face, their dicks getting harder as he flinched each time. They dribbled the beer out of their mouths onto their own cocks, which were out of their pants now, darting in and out of his mouth like lures chased by a fish, shiny with booze and spit, as his desperate face begged to be hooked again.

Beck thought about the handcuffs in the bag – the real deal, not some plastic junk or something with fuzzy pink shit like he’d seen in sex shops.
What would it be like to be constrained like that, hands behind your back, no getting out of it on your own?
He thought of some old cop porn he used to watch over and over, the thrill of powerlessness as the man with the power took what he wanted,
and that’s what I want, isn’t it…

What am I thinking! Like I’m actually going to let some stranger handcuff me in a dirty motel room and…do that to me
. His eyes were glued to the screen.

The skinheads were on either end of the little bitch now, one grabbing his head and shoving his face down onto the dirty wood of the platform while the other rubbed his cock along the crack of that ass, making sure it knew exactly how much dick was about to go in that hole. Their willing prisoner bucked and strained against the duct tape, but there was no getting out of that, was not on your own, might as well be in a pair of handcuffs…

Beck wiped the lube off his hand with a corner of the bed sheet. He reached over to the side of the bed and took the chain link chest harness out of the suitcase. It was
heavy.
He wondered how it would feel on him, if it was anything like the bulletproof vest he’d had to wear once for a security training. It took him a minute to figure it out, but finally he got it on. He had to see what it looked like.

He got up and went into the bathroom. It looked…hot. He’d seen pictures of street fair guys all dressed up, and it had always looked a little silly, like a Halloween costume, but now, he could see, could feel, what the attraction was.
And if you paired it with the heavy metal of the cuffs…

He idly touched his cock as he looked in the mirror. The harness was practical, wasn’t it – some guy who was nailing you hard could wrap his hands around those chains and keep you right where he wanted you.

The knock on the door shocked him. “Shit,” he whispered, before calming himself down. He pulled on his boxer briefs, and thought about taking the harness off but then told himself, no time! He grabbed a t-shirt from his suitcase and pulled it on. He looked through the peephole, wondering if it was the police, finally come to restore order around here, asking him if he’d witnessed whatever crime was going on around here, but it was just some guy.

He opened the door. The guy looked…well, like he belonged around this place, Beck thought. He was tall and thin, lean but clearly strong, his brown hair buzzed to a #1. He was young, in his early twenties, and he wasn’t bad looking, just a little weathered looking around the eyes, more from hard living than hard work, probably. His crystal blue eyes shone with what Beck suspected was more than natural energy. He had tattoos on his forearms and a big silver chain around his neck, displayed outside his baggy black t shirt…

Shit. Was he…the dude from the room down the hall? He had on the same tan cargo shorts, didn’t he?

“Ca…can I help you?”

The dude smiled, one corner of his mouth turning up. Beck knew the look, the look a man gave you when he knew what you were thinking, and what you were thinking was about him. There was a tense, coiled energy in his whip-thin body, an energy that could be violent, or sexual, but explosive one way or the other.

“Hey, I was looking for Alan, is he here?”

“Uh, no. I checked in here today.”

“Aww, shit, he’s gone? That’s too bad,” he said, with a little disappointment in his voice but not much. “Hey, listen, can I use your bathroom?” He leaned in confidentially. “I’ve really gotta piss, I knew if Alan was still here he’d help me out, but…”

Beck was no idiot, he knew it wasn’t a good idea to let a stranger, especially one as straggly and street-looking as this one, in to his room. But some part of him wondered if Alan was the dude who’d left the suitcase, and if so…

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

“Thanks, man.” He came in and Beck shut the door. The man extended a hand. “I’m Tommy.”

“Beck.”

“Cool,” he nodded, waving at the bathroom. “Lemme just…” He looked over Beck’s shoulder for a moment, nodded, and smiled.

“Yeah, sure.”

Beck turned around to see what Tommy had been looking at, and realized with horror that he’d left the porn running on the computer the whole time, and Tommy had seen it. Onscreen the skinheads were naked now, taking turns ramming their slave’s asshole, spitting beer onto the back of his head, reaching around with their hands to shove the drizzling liquid into his mouth. He flipped the lid down to close the computer.

Tommy hadn’t bothered to close the bathroom door, and the sound of his piss splashing in the toilet was like Niagara. The dude really did have to go, and in Beck’s experience, a guy who pissed as loud as that usually had a pretty big dick. He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if he should get up and sit in the chair instead, but that was a direct line of sight into the bathroom.

It didn’t matter – Tommy still had his dick out as he came out of the bathroom. He was just tucking it in but had timed it so Beck got an eyeful.
Holy shit, that’s a fucking tubesteak.
It
was long and fat, cut, with a small head – the kind of cock that goes in easy at first because the head’s not so huge, and then tears you up.

“Thanks, man, I needed that. So,” he nodded at the computer. “Looks like Alan left something behind.”

Beck flushed. “Yeah, I should take this to the front office and…”

Tommy laughed. “Don’t bother. He’s not coming to claim it. Disposable, you know? Beat up old piece of shit with some nasty fucking porn on it, right?”

“Uh…”

“Hey, it’s no biggie, dude. I’ve seen everything on there already.”

He was so casual about it, Beck thought. Did this Alan guy have it off with him? Did Tommy watch the screen while Alan sucked his dick, his hands on Alan’s head but his own mind off in
pornland
?