Date: Mon, 30 Aug 2004 16:41:06 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Encounters/Guy Named Joe/Done by the Queen

The usual disclaimers apply. Don't read it if is
illegal where you are, rights are reserved, comments
welcome, you know why you are here....

A Guy Named Joe

Done by the Queen

It was an all-nighter, all right, and before it was
done I realized I had a tiger by the tail and there
was only one way to get off.

I knelt before him with the tip of his enormous black
cock in my mouth. I gazed up at him, his face framed
by those enormous prosthetic breasts, hard as missile
cones.

He looked down on me without compassion, his eyes were
cold and lidless now that he had cum and yet I knew he
was rousing to the idea of another bout. His/her eyes,
darkly purple shaded, bright crimson lips
un-besmirched by a kiss. But the taste of him was
intoxicating, and my position left really no
alternative. I could get up and leave, but with his
heels and natural height and afro he towered so far
above me that I thought it would be wise to submit to
his mood.

It was a good idea, the submission, since I do not
know what he would have done to me. As it was, he
reached down with the blood-red nails of his hands and
gently raked my cheeks.

"That was gooood, White Bread. I like to see a boy who
knows his work and his place. You are like those
Germans. So proud outside and inside they just want
hot black dick stuck in them and my cum dripping down
their chins. Fucking Krauts."

His voice continued a rant, chanting almost. "Now you
take your hand and move those sweet lips of yours and
you get me hard. I got some fucking to do. I got my
orders."

I nodded meekly as I began to suckle his cock. Orders?
What the hell did that mean? This had suddenly become
frightening. His cock was so big I thought it might
split me up, make me bleed. I did not see mercy or
love in his eyes or hear it in the chant of anger.

This was part of something he had not told in the
story of the young black GI drag-diva of the Ku-damm.
This was a dance of anger. Was it drugs? I  could only
suspect, and I realized for the first time I was way
out of my league in a land far from home.

I raised my hands again to serve him, gently stroking
the long shaft of his cock and my hands cupping his
scrotum, and the hard tight curls of his pubic mass. I
was shivering a little as his cock began to rise, once
more triumphant. I kept my eyes on his face, hoping
for some softening of his features. But what I saw was
cool excitement and the radiance of the power he was
demonstrating over me.

The contrast between Noy, the Thai boy who wanted to
be a girl, and who cuddled against me in the night
after our abortive and confused love-making could not
have been more complete. As he stiffened I had to rise
up as tall as I could on my knees. This tall wiry man
with the enormous thrusting penis was not at all like
the first black man I had serviced. There was hardness
and sad learning in my first one, and tenderness, too.

Not this simmering reservoir of anger for something
that was not me, nor anything I had done. I licked the
piss slit of his cock and gently nuzzled the gathering
of foreskin behind the bulbous purple tip.

He was almost fully hard once more when he jerked
himself from me and grasped my shoulder, squeezing
hard enough for me to murmur in protest. "Shut the
fuck up, Fuck boy. You dumb fuck. Now Amazon is going
to get down, and you are going to shout."

Then he pulled and I lurched to my feet. He looked
down at me from the height of his platform shoes and
his rocket breasts with the dark areolas nearly stared
me in the face. He thrust one in my mouth. "Suckle on
the Queen," he said, "The source of all blessings."

I took the thing in my mouth. The nipple was supple,
but the mass behind was unnaturally firm, as if there
had not been enough skin to cover the bags of silicon.
It was lifeless, not a human breast at all. Something
alien implanted in this wiry body. A breast of
torment, not of solace and comfort.

He held my head there, thrusting his chest into my
mouth. If it had been softer he might have succeeded
in suffocating me, but it was too hard to fully cover
my nose. Instead he dominated my mouth and if he would
not have hurt me I might have used my teeth on the
awful thing.

Then again he pulled himself from me and gripped my
head with both hands. "You don't like these lovelies,
do you, Kraut Boy."

Now I was a German. What was eating this man-girl?

"Well, I'll give you something you do love." With
that, and the dark empty eyes he turned me and thrust
me toward the back of the couch. I stumbled forward
and into it, falling forward so that I had to grasp
the back to keep from falling right over it. He pushed
me down so that my face and arms were on the seat
cushions and my ass was up in the air. I could touch
the floor if I extended my toes, but he kicked my legs
apart so my asshole was exposed and open to him.

I might have been born at night, but not this one. I
knew he was going to take me here and this way and I
just hoped it would be with some consideration.
Something must have happened to this guy in Germany.
Why was I paying for it? God, I wanted Alexander and a
gentle loosening finger. I thought perhaps I could
plead my way out of it, and the image of my first
love, that slim young man with the violin and the
soulful look crossed my mind. The sight of him circled
by bullies in the junior high school and me saying
nothing at all to stop his torment.

"Faggot," they had hissed at Joe. "Faggot! Fucking
homo!"

I saw the fear in Joe's eyes and I did nothing then,
and now I was about to ripped apart and there was no
one to see and no one to help. My hands ripped the
cushions.

"Please use something," I whispered. "Please don't
tear me. Please." In response he chuckled and hawked
up some phlegm. I felt a warm viscous drop hit the top
of my ass crack and drizzle down to my rosebud. I
jerked as his long nails pulled my buttocks apart, and
then I felt the tip of his monster perfunctorily rub
down through the mucous and then lodge against my
asshole.

"No, Please. I've done nothing to you^ÅPlease!"

"You got that one wrong, Duetsch-fag. You fucks are
going to pay for what you did to me." I felt him press
hard against me. He was hard as a diamond, fully,
rampant, and my pain was part of his pleasure. I
willed myself to relax, to admit this intruder as best
I could. I pressed back on the blunt tip of his cock,
wet with our spit and he pressed again, insistently,
brutally. I was not ready, and the more he pushed
against me the more I tightened. I could not relax.
Push, I told myself, otherwise you are going to wind
up in the hospital. A Thai hospital with your asshole
sutured shut.

The pressure grew and I moaned in pain, pinioned
between his thrusting cock and the rigid bulk of the
couch. God it hurt, but my whimpering only made him
press harder. Press back, press back, God please press
back^Å.

Then the fierce tip of his cock sprung the lock-ring
of my anus, triumphantly entering me. I think I might
have passed out in a white blazing light of pain. He
withdraw slightly and spat down on me again. I thought
I heard that but it could have been happening to
someone else. This was pain beyond imagination, a
violation so profound I could not imagine that his
cock in my ass had been what I came for. I cried,
shaking in pain. And then he was inside me, inch by
inch, to the tip of the monster.

Ten inches were buried in me, and I could feel his
balls slapping at the back of mine. He slapped my ass
with an open palm, hard, but I made no sound. There
was nothing that could hurt so much and so deep as his
cock inside.

Then he began to move his hips, and then, slowly, the
pain leveled. After a few minutes of stroking he was
able to withdraw almost to the tip and then suddenly
and violently lunge right to the full depth of his
sword again. I felt as though my insides were being
churned, and I suddenly felt nauseous. Bile filled my
throat.

Ten of those sharp piercing thrusts and then came a
pounding, steady rhythm. The pain lessened, and even
with the pain the repetition began to bring the glow I
had known from my gentler lovers. I grunted now, not
in pain, but in my own arousal as my prostate was
stroked by the bulbous tip and shaft. I might have
moaned.

"See, now, you fucking Kraut. It always feels good
after a while. I'll breed you until you shit niggers
for a week." He began to hit me in time with his
stroking, alternating cheeks and I was humiliated to
see that I was responding to him, thrusting back on
him, moaning with each thrust of that enormous device
deep into my bowels.

He was right. He lasted a long time on his second
session. I came on the back of his couch,
over-stimulated by the impact of his lithe hips, the
churning of my bowels and the wild rubbing of my cock
against the coarse cloth. He cursed me and called me a
Kraut bastard, and when he came himself, he grunted in
triumph, and I felt the warmth of his seed deep in me.
And then he hit me some more.

The third time he came he threw me on his bed, atop
the comforter, and pulled my legs up on his shoulders
and penetrated me that way, my hips aching, thrusting
against me so hard that my head was thrust against the
headboard, banging it with each stroke.

He wanted to come a fourth time, and he thrust his
soft dick into my mouth, filling it with the odor of
shit and taste of decay and semen, and when I
succeeded in getting him hard, he just fucked my face
and I thought I was going to suffocate. He pushed me
on my side and pinioned me with his arms so I could
not escape.

His hard breasts felt like weapons against my back,
and my head swirled with pain and the end of the dope
high, which had enhanced every sensation. He dozed for
a while, exhausted assault on me. I might have too,
even as freaked out as I was.

I should have run. But I didn't. He fucked me again in
the morning and made me blow him in the shower. I
could taste the coppery taste of blood on his
bludgeon, and my shit, and his semen was thin.

Then he told me to put on my clothes and get the fuck
out. I wondered at what he hated so much. I didn't
know him well enough to earn treatment like that. But
before he let me go he made me worship the hard Queen,
the tit that felt like plastic and tasted like hatred.
He told me I would be back.

I didn't say a word. I have never been so happy to see
the daylight. Not before, and not now.

But I did find out that I could be sadder. But some
mistakes you make with your heart, and some with your
groin. Live and you learn, I thought. Or don't. As bad
as I felt, I wondered at what had happened to Amazon
to make him hate his own sex, mutilate himself and
become such a complete psychotic prick.

I limped along Soi 6 and out to where the bustle of
Sukumvit Road would cloak me in the anonymity of
daylight and the crowd. There was a dead dog by the
side of the road, hit a glancing but fatal blow by a
truck or taxi. The body was swollen in the heat.

Oddly corpulent, since the dogs were skinny here. It
was almost balloon like, and the legs stood out from
the internal pressure of gas in the carcass. Great
green flies darted to wing him to his rest. Presently
the asshole would burst, or the esophagus, in a cloud
that would mingle with the bus fumes and the shit in
the Klongs. Then the insects would make him flat.

There was no one to complain to, for the dog or for
me. The Bangkok cops would laugh at what one Westerner
did another, particularly one raped by a katoy so
clearly male.

You get what you pay for, I guess. Though I could not
precisely understand the transaction.

My pants were trashed and I had to return to my
apartment and soak the blood and daub my damaged
asshole. I would not be shitting happily for some
time, as I bent over and tried to inspect the damage
in the full mirror in the bathroom. I hoped that I
would not die of some infection in this tropical town.
I missed filing my copy and Chicago was mad and I had
to make up a story about a country road, some Khmer
refugees and a broken motorbike. I wondered if I
should talk to Oy, and decided this particular
humiliation was too intimate.

Maybe if I kept a low profile I would never see the
Amazon again, and when the time was right, I could
slink out of town. I stayed away from the clubs, even
after my poor torn ass healed up.

There is a lot to be said for kindness, I thought, and
the joy of pain is much overrated.

I considered that right until the afternoon I found
the envelope made of fine fiber paper that had been
slid under my door.

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