Date: Tue, 31 Dec 2002 02:04:15 -0800 (PST) From: Info Calypse Subject: Bang On -(Part 4)- Disclaimer: All acts below are fictional, and any celebrity figures contained wherein are of unknown sexualities, and are used in a strictly fictional and for adults only manner. If sexual acts between males offend, please refrain from reading further. Bang On Part 4: Great Expectations Cain got spooked. That is the easiest way to describe what Jimmy Kimmel and Fred Durst walk out to. Goldberg is still stroking his cock, leaning against the metal banister, sitting on the dark tiles of the patio, soaked. Bruce is on Cain, who just shoved him away, they are yelling slightly, unintelligible. "What the hell is going on out here?" Fred speaks, after a second of just standing there. Dean and Bruce look over at him, and Bruce backs off, sitting on the opposing side of the hot tub. "Goldberg is fucking sick, he won't stop rubbing his fucking prick! Then he came on to me too." Cain stated, his voice wavering slightly. He is honestly torn up over this. "Do you want me to send for a cab?" Durst says, trying to be hospitable. "Yeah. I think I need to go home and crash or something." "I agree. It's getting rather late, or maybe early." The sun is rising over the LA skyline as Bruce mutters his comment half to himself. "I'll call two cabs, unless you two think you can keep your hands to yourselves..." Durst jokes as he re-enters the livingroom. "I'll be good, I swear." Bruce smirks to Dean, holding his right hand over his heart. Dean smiles back, willing to accept this as a misunderstanding. It is good to note that Willis is still naked, and his cock still quite hard. Fred gets to the phone, scratching at his balls absently, and dials the cab company he always sends his LA groupies home with. Not everyone can be trusted with that kind of cargo, some companies are a little too vocal about whom they shuttle around, especially when they have just been boned by a rockstar. Not any sooner had Fred gotten an answer on the phone, does the door require his immediate attention. Who knocks on the penthouse door at five-thirty in the morning? Durst replaces the receiver, leaving the cab situation for a minute and peaking through the hole in the door. Cops. Jimmy had followed Fred back inside, not really wanting any part in the weird tension outside. Hearing the door, he had come right behind Fred, trying to see what the host was going to do about the little invasion of privacy hammering at the door. "Who is it?" "The fucking cops! Tell the guys to get some clothes on, we don't need any trouble." Durst grunts, trying to be loud enough to get his point across, but not so loud that the law could hear him through the door. "Open up, Durst!" A deep voice, muffled, yells. Durst slides the chain off of the door and slowly turns the knob, Jimmy is barely out the sliding door when two huge police officers enter. "We got a report of a disturbance up here. You weren't answering the manager's calls..." The cop looks over to the phone, which had a little blinking light going off, the second line. Fred looks too, he had forgot that he had turned off the ringer before he left for the party at Kimmel's. "Sorry, sir. We were just doing some drinking, and a guy slipped and fell when he was getting out of the hot tub. We're sorry to be any trouble." "We would like to go out there and take a quick look around, if you don't mind..." The same cop muttered, not really asking. Durst just hopes that Kimmel had gotten some pants on Goldberg, or this was going to get a bit interesting, and probably expensive to keep quiet. Durst slides the door open and the main cop follows him through, the other staying inside, probably to search for drugs. Fred is smirking to himself, happy that all of his stuff is still in the limo. He looks up just in time to see Goldberg and the cop meet eyes, Goldberg still has his cock out, whacking with quite some speed, considering the amount of times he's come tonight. Fred feels lightheaded. "What you got there, boy?" The cop grunts. It would be opportune to give a brief description of the kind of cop that can call Goldberg "boy". At maybe six two, probably closer to six three, the man outweighs Goldberg by quite a bit. He has the build of a professional footballer, thick shoulders, beefy everything. His forearms seeming to burst from the short sleeves of his uniform. The blue pants barely holding his thighs in check, his broad chest creating little tension marks around the buttons of his shirt. A blond, with pale blue eyes, he has the crewcut and the face of a marine, his nose puggish, his eyes small, but not really in a bad way. Not handsome, but someone who could definitely get any girl he wants, based purely on intimidation. "Don't know? You wanna search it?" Goldberg grunts, moving his hands to the ground, leaving his oozing head pointed at the cop, whose face is redding. "Get up! Against the banister, shitface!" The cop barks at him, red from anger not embarrassment. His all American face finally achieving some color, the big vein in his neck bulging. Goldberg gets up, hurried, and leans against the banister, his arms spread, his cock sticking out of the other side, dripping come into the wind. "What's the problem officer, he's just drunk.." Durst tries to step in and mitigate the problem, before Goldberg makes it one. "He was fuckin' jerking off at me, that's the problem." "He's drunk, and this isn't a public place. I'm sorry you had to see that, but his size kind of keeps us from getting anything on him." Durst says, putting himself next to Goldberg. The officer has a angry look to him, his face still red, but his eyes slowly relax, and the color drains. "Yeah. I guess it's no harm, no foul." He begins, removing his forearm from the wrestler's back, and his other arm slipping off of his nightstick. "But what was the ruckus about, boys?" "I fell into the hot tub, and I sorta knocked my head and then Bruce jumped in after me, in case I was to drown or something." Dean explains, his bruise beginning to show. Bruce smiles slightly to Dean, then looks at the officer and shrugs. "I left the phone off, as all of us are too drunk for conversations. I was about to call some cabs when you came up." Durst finishes, the officer appearing satisfied. "Marsh, sir?" The younger cop spoke firmly, his head out of the glass door. "You might want to ask them about this." The cop tosses a baggy of what looks like pot. Durst looks quickly at Bruce, who blinks, and then at Dean, who moves his left hand slightly, and then to Kimmel, who is sweating. "What do we have here, boys? Some medicinals? We don't we all just lean on the banister like the big 'un, eh?" Marsh grunts, his voice carrying, booming almost. Everyone spreads their arms on the banister, but do to limitations in space, are forced to have their arms bent at the elbow. Marsh walks down the line, his nightstick tapping each man on the lower back. "So who is the owner of this, Johnston?" "From the wallet in the jeans, it's Mr. Kimmel there." Johnston mutters, holding out the wallet, Kimmel's stupid looking license smirking dully at the men, who are looking over their shoulder's to see. Kimmel looks back out at the city, swallowing heavily. "Well, where there is one drug, there are more, eh?" Marsh says, jokingly firm. Like a man who has all of the power, and who likes to rub it in. Marsh stalks over to Kimmel, and rests his left arm over Kimmel's left shoulder. He leans in and takes a look at Kimmel, who keeps his eyes front, but is still visibly shaken. "So you got any for the rest of us, boy? I bet you got some hiding on you right this second, eh?" Kimmel shivered, sure of what was on the cop's mind. "Only one way to know, eh? Johnston, you want the honors?" Marsh grinned, still breathing in Kimmel's face. Jimmy could smell chewing tobacco on the cop's breath, sweet yet acrid at the same time. "Fine by me, sir." Johnston grins. Johnston is about six flat, his body thick, but like a wrestler, wirey yet solid. He has deep green eyes, and slicked back brown hair. His face is that of a man older than his appearance, his eyes sunken slightly in, bent up at the ends, like he is always about to smile. His squared jaw seems somewhat out of place on his otherwise smallish face. He is handsome, but not in the supermodel kind of way. His right hand digs into his belt, and finds the glove. He smiles broadly as he slips it on, walking up behind Jimmy in a strut. All but Jimmy stare at the cop, waiting to see what will happen. "This won't hurt a bit." Johnston mutters, pulling down Jimmy's boxers, letting them fall down to his feet. "You might want to spread your legs some." Johnston said, slicking down his hand with some lube from his belt. Jimmy parts his legs, then rethinks, and moves his left back, kicking off his boxers, and spreads them a bit more. "Now, what do we have here?" Johnston grins, pulling his hand out and sniffing at it. "Whiskey? Now what have you boys been up to?" Johnston turns to Marsh, and Marsh smiles. "So, some assplay is it, boys?" Kimmel gulps, not really sure where this is going. The other men stare out at the scenery, hoping that he wasn't directing that question towards them. "Marsh, what should we do about these sick fucks, sir?" Marsh walks up behind Durst, tapping the man's ass with his nightstick. He whistles, debating in his head. Durst stops breathing, nervous that he will end up in jail, with this on the cover of US Weekly. "Suppose we outta teach them a little lesson." Marsh grins to Johnston, an evil sort of crooked grin. A smirk gone wrong. Marsh unzips his pants, and Durst turns around in a start. "Back on the banister, fucker!" Durst complies, almost falling over. "Looks like someone's an eager little fuck, eh Johnston?" "Yeah. Do you want the stuff?" Johnston laughs, patting his belt with his ungloved hand, and swirling his thumb in Jimmy's ass with the other. Jimmy shakes slightly, afraid he'll get more than the two fingers he just had up there. "Nah. Bareback is what this boy needs to school him right, eh boy?" Marsh grunts, pulling down Fred's boxer-briefs and pushing on Fred's lowerback with the nightstick in the other hand. Fred tries not to seem excited. Marsh whips out his trouser snake, a huge member at only half-mast, thick and smooth. His pale friend slowly awakens, his foreskin slipping back under his arrowshaped head. Fred tries to sneak a peek, but Marsh waves his nightstick, threateningly by Fred's ear, and he reconsiders. "We're not runnin' a show here." With that he plows his huge beast all the way in Durst, who screams. "FUCK!!" "Keep it quiet, dumbshit!" Marsh grunts, his nightstick slamming into Durst's ribs. "Johnston, quit watching and take the fucking junkie!" Marsh laughs huskily at his partner, waving his nightstick at Kimmel. Johnston laughs, reaching his ungloved hand into his tight trousers and waking his sleeping giant. A bulge quickly grows in his pants and Johnston responds by unfastening his belt and dropping trow. "You're in for a treat junkie!" Marsh grunts at Kimmel. Marsh looks at Johnston, who is getting into position, and they both laugh. Kimmel sort of glances at Fred, who is trying not to scream, and thanks several deities that he is already all lubed up. Willis and Goldberg look on with interest, both sporting throbbing hard-ons. Cain is looking out over the scenery, trying to remind himself why he came to this fucking party when he could have gone home with that Kate-chick from Drew Carey. He is also sporting a stone-solid mast, but that is of little notice to anyone as all eyes are on the cops. Marsh plows unrelentlessly on Fred's tight ass, which is slowly becoming both numb from pain, and lubed with blood and Marsh's precome. Marsh grunts slightly, but never falters, going full speed with no stop in sight, his cock gushing pearly juice up Fred's overworked entry. Johnston is playing more than assaulting Kimmel, riding him like a hurried lover, fast, but still gentle. Johnston is silent in his screwing, only his heavy breath is heard by Jimmy, who is stifling his own responses. Marsh is the first to come. Suddenly, and without any warning, Marsh slaps Fred's white ass with his nightstick, an action he had committed several times earlier, but this one being different in that it drew blood. "Fuck!" Fred yells, turning his head to see Marsh pulling out. "Kneel." Marsh groans, almost inaudibly. Fred complies immediately. Marsh tenses, his hairy paws running swiftly over his reddened cock. Fred's mouth, open as he gasps in pain and something that resembles ecstasy, is soon filled with Marsh's cock, as he shoves the whole thing in just as he begins to come. Fred's throat is splashed with wave after wave of the flowing liquid. "Uuhhh--swallow you fucking punk!" Marsh yells, his face red again, his eyes tensely shut as his whole body tingles with release. Willis strokes his cock, the man farthest from all the action, then is Dean. He looks at Willis, and decides to follow suit, almost positive he is either going to get raped or thrown in jail, so what the fuck? Then Goldberg, who doesn't really need an excuse to take another swipe at his meat. Fred, finished with his punishment, looks over at Kimmel as he catches his breath. Finally, Kimmel is looking out at the city making little groaning noises as he gasps for air. Johnston quickens his pace, his speed making up for lack of force, and soon it reaches the desired effect. Marsh is behind Johnston now, holding his partner's shoulders and pulling at Johnston's furry balls as they swing violently back and forth. "Pull out and shoot on his face." Marsh whispers huskily into Johnson's ear, his breath warm with desire. Johnston grunts, and pulls his cock out, obviously irritated by the interruption as he was about to blow. "Assume the position, fucker." Marsh yells, his left hand grabbing at his partner's pec, his right sliding feverishly on Johnston's prick. Kimmel kneels and squints, trying to keep any flying fluids out of his ocular area. Johnston tenses up quickly, his eyes rolling back. "Fuu--ck!" Ropey come spurts on Kimmel's forehead, then his left eye, and lastly his lower lip. "That was real good." Marsh mutters in Johnston's ear, purring almost. Jimmy licks his lip unconsciously, savoring the salty seed. Marsh looks at Kimmel, then at Durst. "Johnston, we forget about the illicts." "Yea--uhhh.." Johnston groans, still high off his shot, now moaning over Marsh's meaty paw pulling at his buzzing balls. "Grab your pants, we're out of here." Marsh mutters, his still swollen cock getting quickly folded back in his tight pants. Johnston pulls his pants up, buckling quickly, and running after Marsh who is already at the door. They leave as quick as they came. "Okay, I'm fucking out of here." Kimmel yells, walking back into the room. Fred quickly follows, to see the man out. Dean groans. Both Bruce and Goldberg look at Dean. "Fuck.. do one of you want to help me out." Dean speaks, his voice slathered in lust, his hand in precome. Bruce licks his lips as Dean turns away from the banister to expose his thick member. Bruce beats Bill to the punch, dropping to his knees and taking Dean in whole. Bill, always disatisfied with just watching, kneels next to Bruce, and sucks heavily on Cain's large balls. "Auhh--yeah." Dean groans, running his hands over both men's smooth skulls. Bruce pulls back, allowing Goldberg the honors, standing, and returning to whacking at his own maddened penis. Dean leans over slightly and kisses Bruce, and the men exchange tongues at a feverish pitch, Dean gasping here and there, his left hand rubbing the back of Goldberg's neck, the right cupping Bruce's ass, squeezing in unison with Bill's bobbing mouth. "Mmm--uhhh.." Dean moans, pulling his head away from Willis to get some air. Bruce tenses, and grunts. "Fuck, I'm gunna come.." Bruce moans, and Goldberg abandon's Dean's cock for the promised seed of another. Bruce removes his hand, and allows Bill to grab his cock in his own beefy palm. Soon Bruce falls over the edge. "Ahh---fu-ck--yeah--!" Bruce pistons his ass twice as his juice flys into Goldberg's waiting mouth, which quickly encloses on Bruce's tingling spearhead. Bruce can hardly stand the sensation as Goldberg sucks with all his might on only his throbbing head as he siphons every last drop of come from his body. Dean looks on, whacking his prick with his right, his left hand pulling on Bruce's tightened sack. "Now you." Goldberg grunts, slapping away Dean's hand, and returning to business. Dean quickly succumbs, his rounded ass clenching as his balls pull up. "It's time..." Cain moans, his voice deep with the buzzing in his skull, just about there. Bruce drops to his knees and sucks on Dean's balls, rolling his tongue quickly around each nut in a figure-eight pattern. Goldberg lets his mouth slip back on Dean's huge cock, his right hand stroking as his tongue flitters over Cain's opening slit. "A--uuh-uhhhh--" Cain grunts, then moans, his head rolling back, as Goldberg pulls back letting the star's seed splash all over his face. Dean steps back as the last drop falls on Bruce's tongue. Both men get up, and kiss Dean in turn. First Goldberg who shares both come in his mouth, and on his face, which then get smeared on Bruce. "That was fucking hot." Dean grunts, slapping Bill's ass. "Yeah, it was." Fred says from inside the sliding glass door. "Oh..well.." Dean starts. "Please, like you have anything to hide from me." Fred laughs. Bruce and Bill look at Dean, and they all laugh. "I guess saying 'keep this a secret' isn't really necessary." Jimmy says, standing fully clothed behind the still naked Durst. "Nah. This is going to be just between us." "Us and the cops." Bruce corrects Fred. "Yeah, that too." Fred mutters. They all laugh, heading back into the room to dress as the sun rises on another lovely day in California. The End. <<<<>>>> Sorry this took so damned long, but here it is finally. Hope you liked the last episode of this series. For my next one I think I'm going to go for either a incest thing (personal problem) or maybe do something with X-Men, so keep those eyes open. Thanks for all the emails, I'm glad someone is actually enjoying these. Later, Infocalypse