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Snake Tail

Category: Gay Male
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I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I’d better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth. The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on open exhibition for months and could have had any woman I’d wanted during that time.

But revealing what I really wanted just wasn’t the type of publicity the band—or it’s teenaged-girl-based fan club—could use. And that’s why on this particular evening I found myself on Thailand’s Pattaya Beach in search of relief for this heat I’d been in for a total plowing for the last few months of what must have been the longest road show concert series any international band had ever done. My voice was hoarse from all of the performances, and my ass was twitching for attention. Pattaya wasn’t necessarily the end of the earth. But it was so open to accommodating what I needed without a whole lot of publicity that it seemed the right place to be.

I’d heard that Howard’s Bar off the beach at Pattaya was the place to hook up. So, long after the sun had gone down, I entered the garden bar dressed in my most fetching low-rise stonewashed jeans and a pair of loafers and showered body and shampooed hair and nothing else other than a friendly smile that had been plastered across numerous music, fashion, and gossip magazine covers.

The party was already in full swing. A couple of bars were set up under palm trees surrounding a meandering concrete terrace with a pool, many clumps of lush tropical vegetation that provided a good many discrete pocket garden areas, and a network of muted lighting that highlighted the central dance floor and provided good mood light to all of the other nooks and crannies about. There was a good crowd already partying—all hunky-looking men and all obviously either on the make or well into making or being made. A band of Thai musicians was doing a creditable job off to the side of many of the hit tunes of the day, including several that I had recorded to platinum myself.

I recognized some of the men there and was surprised to see most of them here; I didn’t feel so isolated now in what I had to do to keep public face. But as long as they didn’t do a double-take at seeing me, I wouldn’t mess with their desire to hang out without being outed either. Still, with all of the talent in evidence, I was both surprised and a little gratified to note that all eyes at least stopped when they saw me and a good many lingered there—with some even bold enough to give me a come hither look that I knew so well when I was on vacation from my public world.

I could feel my butt twitching. One of these hunks was going to top me tonight—sometime before I left Howard’s Bar—and I wasn’t going to let him go until he’d done me royally. I was going to work some unsuspecting guy to exhaustion tonight.

I sat at a bar stool watching the crowd and brushing off the braver of the swirl of cruisers who approached me with their tongues hanging out, whether attracted by recognized celebrity or my hours spent in the gym and grooming shops I knew not—nor did I particularly care—any brand of honey would do tonight as long as the bees had nice bods, big dicks, and a lot of stamina. I wanted something special—and I wanted it soon; I’d flown all the way from L.A. for this.

Within about ten minutes, I’d seen him. I was sure that I saw him before he saw me. He was at a table with three other capable-looking muscle men—and he was the hunkiest of the lot. I could hear their boisterous conversation well enough to tell that they were all Aussies. He had the size and physique of a footballer and the face of a movie star. All blond good looks with enough of a tan to make him look like a serious outdoor sportsman. He was wearing baggy cargo shorts and a godawful Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose to reveal a serious bodybuilder’s torso. I decided that if he had a cock to match that, he could very well be in for a special treat tonight.

He must have felt someone watching him intensely, because he turned to me, made eye contact, and gave me a glorious smile.

I was about to go over and tell him he was the night’s lucky winner when a swirl of bodies came between the two of us. His table was across an edge of the dance floor from where I was sitting, and the singer of the band that was playing had put on a hard sell for dancers to flood the floor. They had done so. And out of that new, distracting wave of dancers, my attention was torn away from the Aussie hunk and found a new, fascinating focus.

There, highlighted by a traveling strobe light that must have been guided by a real fan in the lighting booth, was a sight that took my breath away. The dancer was South Asian. He had a rich chocolate-brown body that was well muscled but that also was as lithe and as flexible as anything I’d seen on a man. He had a healthy head of black hair and a face so chiseled and fine boned that it was hard to think it was natural. But it was his torso that mesmerized. He was undulating in perfect harmony with the music in a slow, sensual motion that stretched and highlighted every muscle. He was wearing a Thai-style sarong skirt that barely covered his hips, and considering the movement of his body, it was hard to understand how the sarong stayed in place. As beautiful as the movement of his torso to the music was, however, what was primarily arresting was his body tattoo.

He had a gorgeous, almost luminous, rendering of an intricately scaled snake, in reds, greens, and purples, coiled around his midsection and winding up and around his left shoulder. The head of the snake, which, when examined closely, evoked the beauty and features of the dancer himself, dipped down and looked out—straight at me; always focused on me—from his sternum at the center of his torso just below his pecs. And when I was able to pull my gaze from this as the dancer made the snake sway back and forth with the undulating of the music’s rhythm, I followed the tail of the snake. It wound back around to the front of the South Asian and came just to below his puckered navel and then disappeared down and beyond the dipping waistline of the sarong, toward the very center of the dancer.

The dancer had seen me. The dancer had chosen me. He moved to directly between me and my line of sight on the Aussie hunk and stood there, dancing only for me. Swaying to the music for me. Undulating his snake tattoo in a mesmerizing movement that held my attention entirely and aroused my already oozing juices. The South Asian was dancing with his hands too, turning them in impossible positions to the rhythm of the music. They were beckoning to me, and the dancer was slowly retreating from me, but drawing me with him.

I had no idea I’d left the bar stool and was following the swaying snake until we were beyond the dance floor and entering one of the more private parts of the garden, still within sight of the swimming pool and well within hearing of the band music and softly lit, but somehow completely cut off from the swirling vortex of cruising men on the dance floor and at the bars. The achingly handsome South Asian was still moving with the music, undulating his muscles and that fascinating snake. I was charmed. He drew me over to a velour-covered padded lounge chair, one of a large set scattered around the pool area, and I sank into that without being fully aware that I no longer was sitting at the bar.

The South Asian swayed in front me to the music, drawing ever closer to me. The snake was holding my attention enthralled. I felt the long slender fingers at my waistband and the button being undone, and I heard the zipper being slowly worked down. And I felt my jeans being pulled off my legs, but I had eyes only for the undulating of the snake tattoo. It seemed alive. Sensual, not the least bit frightening.

The dancer leaned down and his handsome face crowded my vision. He was smiling and telling me how beautiful I was and asking me if he could fuck me. His long slender fingers were stroking my cock. And of course I told him he could fuck me. That’s what I’d come here for. Exotic relief. And this was far beyond my wildest dreams.

He gave me a deep, possessing kiss on the lips, and his tongue darted inside my mouth. Here, there, everywhere. Exploring, slithering inside me.

He moved one of my hands to the knot at the waist of his sarong and whispered that I should untie it. All the time, he was swaying to the music, his muscles and that snake undulating in breathtaking motion. My hands were trembling and it took both of them to undo the knot. When I had finally managed to untie it, he stepped away from me as the silk of the sarong slithered down his legs and puddled on the concrete of the pool deck at his feet.

I gasped when I saw him naked. The tail of the snake wound down his groin and onto his penis and encircled it twice before ending just short of the cut glans head and on the top surface of his cock. His cock was long and curved up in tumescence. I had gasped mostly, though, because his bulbous dickhead had been rouged the same color as the snake head on his chest and two tiny green eyes had also been inked in. And, most maddenly of all, he had a stud in his penis head and attached to that was five or six inches of thin red ribbon, slit most of the way from the tip. The forked tongue of the snake.

“Do you want to make love to it before I fuck you?” he whispered to me in a sing song voice.

Of course I did. He continued to undulate his tattooed torso in front of me to the rhythm of the music as I played his long, rouged cock with my mouth. He was humming to the music in half tones that harmonized with what the band was playing but that made the music into a more mysterious, sensuous sound. And somehow he managed to reach my cock with long sensual fingers and augment my arousal as I made love to the snake between his legs.

I heard rustling in the bushes and looked up to see that the Aussie who had first arrested my attention had followed us. He sat down on stonework surrounding an area of foliage in the shadows not far from us, and I heard the sound of a zipper, and he pulled out a cock even larger than I had hoped he had and fingered it as he intently watched with slitted eyes the South Asian taking me.

Even before the Aussie arrived and settled himself, the South Asian pulled away from me and, moving strong hands behind my knees on both sides, slid my body down the lounge chair so that my butt hung over the side, and spread my legs wide.

A light over the chair in a palm tree played down on us just right to focus down along a torso that was still swaying to the music. My eyes moved down from the undulating snake head on the torso to the approaching snake head at the end of his long, upward curved cock, and the light gave me a full view of him slithering inside me and giving my passage walls the combined thrill of dancing, swaying, a cock stud, and that swirling red-silk ribbon cock tongue.

He was striking inside me. Again and again. Biting every inch of my passage with the stud. Slithering that tongue inside, going ever deeper with each strike. I was lurching and moaning and groaning and begging him to fuck me forever just as he was doing. And the South Asian was still swaying to the music and gliding his sensuous fingers over me and working my cock like the gear shift on a fine sports car.

I was turning my head this way and that way, glorying in the sensual fuck. I saw that the Aussie was highly aroused as well and was running his meaty hands over the deep curves and bulges of his muscles. His thick cock was standing out what seemed a full foot and he had his thumb on the head of it and was moving it in a slow, languid motion.

And now there were others there too. Not much different from one of my rock concerts—except that it was the South Asian playing me to perfection rather than me taking the lead in entertaining the crowd. The one light playing down between our torsos, both swaying to the music of the fuck and slamming against each other, the snake between his legs slithering out and then slamming back into its hole. Repeatedly. Again and again. In rhythm to the music. The men gathered around were watching and fingering each other. One man was standing behind another, smaller one, and fucking him hard from behind. Lifting him with each thrust. Each thrust of his was timed with an appearance and holing of the snake between the South Asian’s legs.

I was getting exactly what I’d come for. I lay back and watched, along with the others, the rhythm of the South Asian’s fuck, knowing that I was the one getting the fullest enjoyment of it.

Laying and watching. No sense of time. Never wanting it to stop.

* * *

I had seen him slip off into the bushes with the Snake, and had followed. I had thought he would be mine. I recognized him as soon as he’d entered Howard’s as someone famous, but I would have wanted to fuck him regardless. I didn’t know who he was. My friends didn’t either, but they saw that he fancied me and told me to go for it. Then the dancers started moving between us and when my line of sight to the bar was clear again, he had disappeared. I’d missed out I thought.

I had been eyeing him off from the far side of the dance floor for some time and twice had almost stood and come over to him. But he had always had someone else hanging around him and I could see he was brushing all comers off. And then he gave me the eye. I knew that look. He fancied me. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted to be introduced to Clyde. As the dancers cleared at the stop of a song, I got the courage to stand and amble over to see if what he had in mind was what I had in mind—getting my class A Clyde inside his beautiful bum. I just couldn’t resist. But he was gone. One of my mates pulled on my arm, though, and pointed me to the shadows beyond the dance floor, and I saw that the guy I fancied was following the South Asian with a snake tattoo, the one me and my mates had tagged as the Snake, into a side garden.

The South Asian Snake had a long cock out in the few minutes it had taken me to find them in the shrubbery and he had the handsome young man stripped. And the Snake’s dick was well on its way inside the guy I fancied. The hunk had looked good to me before; now lying naked under the Snake he looked totally irresistible. The young guy was horny in the extreme. The Snake had barely started working him and he was moaning and begging for the fuck. And the Snake, still swaying around to the music, was running his free hand over the young guy’s torso.

It was one hot fuck, and the young guy was so horny that I had hope he’d be up for a second fucking. I sank down on a stone wall, unzipped myself, and unleashed Clyde. That’s what I called it—Clyde. It was big enough to have a name of its own. I hoped that when the young guy got a look at what I was packing, he’d go as ape shit for me as he was going for this South Asian. I was running my hands over my own body and hardly noticed that the Snake show had another interested member or two in its audience. The light was just right for us all to get a good look at the Snake’s moving tattoo and that long, curved cock of his working the young guy’s luscious ass. After a surprisingly short fucking from Snake, the young guy arched his back as the South Asian came inside him, and I saw that the young guy’s eyes were far away and still full of lust. I had myself out, stroking, and was now desperate for the guy. Snake had the length in his dick but the young guy obviously had him spinning, because he came quickly and soon after pulled out of the hunk.

They crouched there, hunched against each other on the pool chair, kissing. Then the South Asian just pulled away, rewrapped his sarong and turned and started dancing in front of a small, wild-eyed Thai guy who was already being plowed hard from behind by a Scandinavian-looking guy who must of have been fifty but who had quite a cock on him. The young hunk lay there on the covered pool chair, all akimbo, his legs still wide open and cum oozing out of his ass. He looked back vaguely at me for a moment, with a small lost smile on his mouth.

* * *

I wanted the South Asian slithering inside me forever, swirling that red ribbon around in my passage, but he came quickly, spitting his venom deep inside me, and seemed to lose interest in me almost immediately. He stood up and away from me and reknotted his sarong around his waist. He turned from me and toward the group of onlookers, where an older European had an arm around a small Thai’s waist and was ramming the wild-eyed Asian up and down on his pelvis. The South Asian stood in front of them, swaying to the music and to the forceful fuck the European was giving his small companion.

The exotic fuck had been fun. But I hadn’t even come. The South Asian hadn’t given me time to be fully satisfied. I was still in deep heat and turned my gaze on the Aussie who I had originally picked out. He was still sitting there on the stone wall, working his monstrous meat.

I gave him a small, wan smile. I wanted my eyes to tell him that I wasn’t satisfied yet. I willed him to come over and fuck me hard.

* * *

I couldn’t resist the look the young hunk gave me—started by the South Asian but abandoned as soon as the Snake had spit his venom. I stepped forward and knelt between the hunk’s thighs and leaned forward to kiss him, my hands roaming over his body, possessing it. His mouth opened for me eagerly, and we kissed deeply. Then when I could pull away from his mouth, I pointed my cock at his dribbling hole and pushed my dick into the well-lubed and opened entrance the Snake had so recently left. The young hunk moaned, crying out that I was stretching him as the Snake hadn’t done, as I buried myself to the limit inside him. Then I began to plow him slowly in long deep strokes, until he was whimpering and moaning for me. The Snake may have been long and had that toy to wave inside the hunk, but I was longer and thicker and knew I had more staying power.

I worked my self inside him, driving and slowing, as the hunk seemed to want, until he was crying out for me to go harder and faster, and I obliged him as the Snake and several others watched on. Just when we had a good rhythm going, though, he asked me to stop, crying out in a strained voice. I was surprised and confused and rolled off him and stood. All eyes were on us. The Snake even stopped his dance and turned to us. Only the older European was so taken in his own fucking that he didn’t stop. He was crouched under the small Thai now, still standing, but he’d lifted the Thai off the ground and had him lapped and was pounding away up into the Thai, who was flopping around like a rag doll and making shrill whimpering sounds.

* * *

The Aussie was doing a great job on me, but suddenly I didn’t want an audience. I was a bit confused myself, but I didn’t want an audience like I had to live with on my world tours. And at the same time I wanted to be fucked like that little Thai was being fucked by the big European. I wanted to be taken like an animal and fucked until I yowled. Just not with an audience.

The Aussie stood up from me and turned as if I’d dismissed him. He had a crushed look on his face. But he was wrong. His pole was almost more than I could take and that was exactly what I wanted. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the garden and down the street, our pants quickly pulled on again, but just for the journey for the two blocks to the dark, silent Pattaya beach, beckoning to us with the sound of the lapping surf on the sand.

When we were alone on the sand, I turned to him.

“I don’t want you to stop fucking me. But I want it rough and continuous until I’ve come three or four times. And I want you to fight me for it. To wrestle me and take me hard and deep—and until dawn. Just the two of us. I came all the way from L.A. to make up for a lot of always-in-the-fishbowl-in-front-of-screaming-little-girls time, and I want my money’s worth.”

* * *

When the young hunk, Tom Kat, said that, I laughed. This was my kind of game. It had hit me now. He was Tom Kat, the lead singer for that famous band of the same name currently on the international circuit. I’d seen him on television and I’d wanted to fuck his ass from the moment I’d seen him.

I snorted and grabbed for his arm. But he broke away from me, laughed, and started running on the sand, parallel to the edge of the sea, toward the quiet end of the beach. He wasn’t the athlete that I was, though. I caught up to him, and twisted him around and kneed him in the belly—not hard, but enough to take the wind out of him. As he went down on the sand, I tugged at the waistband of his jeans and they came off him. While I was stripping my own shorts off, he regained his wind and struggled up and started scuttling along the beach again, propelling himself in a crab-like crouch with feet and hands. I caught up with him easily and covered his back with my chest and brought him to a standstill on all fours. Wrapping my arm around his chest, I heaved back with my hips and thrust my thick cock inside his hole. I’d already been in there and he was well lubed, but the invasion was still a shock to him. He cried out and tried to scuttle away from this invasion again, but I had a good hold on him and followed along the sand with him, thrusting in and out of him as he moved, more slowly with each thrust. Crying out in pain and passion. Until he came to a standstill, on all fours in the sand. And I fucked him like a dog. Hard and fast and deep. And he panted and grunted and howled like a dog. I had my hand under his belly and was stroking him off, and he came and than I came and we collapsed on the sand, panting and gurgling and laughing.

He struggled up and padded toward the water. I came after him, catching him when we had splashed in to a depth slightly above our waists. He turned and pummeled me with his fists and I forced his head under water until all of the fight was out of him. And then I pulled him up, reversed myself to where I was pointed at the beach, crouched, and brought him down into my lap, also facing the beach, and skewered his ass with my pole. He thrashed about and whimpered and moaned as I fucked him by sliding him up and down on my cock just as the European had done to the small Thai back at Howard’s Bar. And the rock star writhed and flopped around like a rag doll just as the small Thai had done and loved every minute of it. I fucked and fucked and fucked until we had both come for a second time. And then I just held him there and nuzzled my lips into the hollow of his neck, recharging my batteries.

At length, he turned his face to mine and we kissed. He thanked me, saying the trip now was worthwhile and pulled away from me and slowly waded back to shore. I waited until he was on the beach and tenderly working his way up the sand, his legs well apart, nursing the plowing he had received.

Then with a roar, I took out after him, catching him before he had reached the road and manhandling him back toward the water as he struggled against me—laughing but telling me he had had enough. He’d only come twice, though, and he’d specified three times at least and I had no idea if he’d remember that once he’d gotten back to L.A. I crab walked him to a small fishing boat pulled up on the sand and flopped him down on the bottom of the boat on his back. As he weakly struggled to get up from that position, I held him down with a hand to his neck, telling him I’d put his lights out if he didn’t stop struggling. And then I forced his legs up and over the gunwales at either side, crouched down between his thighs with my knees under his butt, and held his chest down with my hands as I fucked him to a third conclusion.

I collapsed on top of him after we’d both come, and lay there on top of him, still encased, as we both, with rasping breath and heavy chests, felt me growing smaller, but still fulfilling inside him. He sighed under me and stroked my hair with a hand and as we watched fingers of the dawn creep across the sky, he gave me a proposition I couldn’t refuse.

“How would you like to see the world for a while?” he said in a small, quiet voice. “You’d be traveling with the band. You’d handle baggage and instruments by day—and me by night. I don’t really see why I should have to travel halfway around the world whenever I’m horny.”

I gave him my answer by pulling his hips up until his weight was on his shoulders, wishboning his legs and letting Clyde fuck down into his stretched hole for the fourth taking he’d mentioned while he showed me just how good the lungs of a rock star could be. No reason not to let him know just how much—and how frequently—I could handle him.

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