Date: Thu, 10 Sep 2015 09:14:02 -0700 From: Skorpio Subject: Bed of Roses (author, interr) PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY WITH YOUR DONATIONS Bed of Roses by Skorpio Josh swooned as Demont swept him over the threshold and carried him effortlessly into their honeymoon suite. The room was vast with balcony windows flung open and candles flickering in the early evening breeze. The ultra king-sized bed was strewn with long stemmed red roses. In a bucket of ice on the nightstand, a bottle of the most expensive champagne. For the eighteen year old whiteboy it was a fantasy come true. Married to the man of his dreams. A diamond sparkling on his finger. It was the perfect climax to their whirlwind romance. Just three months ago, Josh was telling his mother, "I'm never gonna meet Mr. Right." "Dry your tears," she said. "Mr. Right will come along some day." "But how will I know?" "You will know when the time comes, my dear." That old chestnut turned out to be the worst advice Josh's mother could have given him. The very next day Josh found Mr. Right. Or Mr. Right found Josh. The jury is still out. Demont Williams was twenty-nine but looked twenty-one, handsome, broad-shouldered, very masculine, not to mention an impeccable dresser. He owned a landscaping business, and drove a cherry red Mercedes-Benz convertible. That was pretty much how Zach described his boyfriend to his parents on the phone. The very last thing he mentioned, as if it was an oversight, was, "And he's black." "That doesn't matter to us, son," said Josh's father. "All we want is for you to be happy." Mr. and Mrs. Martin Midler had years preparing for their son falling in love with another man. From Joshua's toddler days onward they knew their sweet child was unlike the other boys. The lad played with dolls, dressed up like mommy, and got countless crushes on shirtless TV action heroes. He wanted to be a ballet dancer, then a model, then a movie star, but was willing to settle for being famous for being famous. The color of a person's skin was not an issue for the Midlers, no more than their son's homosexuality. But color seemed to be on Josh's mind. He had never crushed on a man of color before, never even considered the possibility. Not until Demont came along. Actually, Josh could not clearly remember how they met. Was it at the boutique where Josh worked one afternoon when Demont walked in to buy his sister a gift? Sunday morning at the gym when Demont asked Josh to spot him? Or the time they bumped into one another at a gay club in town? It seemed like Demont had always been a part of life. Always taking him to nice places. Always a manly shoulder to lean on. On their second date, Josh felt obligated to tell Demont he was a virgin, and not having sex until married. "I respect that, baby-boy," cooed Demont. "That's one of the many things I love about you. Your purity. Yes, my sweet, keep it safe. One night your husband will take away your innocence, fill you with bliss like you have never been filled before; and he will teach you how to please your man." "Yes, I want that," sighed the dreamy-eyed twink. "Maybe that man will be me," Demont whispered in the young whiteboy's ear. It was not easy for Josh resisting the urges that came to him at different times. He let Demont's strong hands paw his chest and pinch his nipples when they parked at Lookout Point, until that made Josh want to spread his legs and he had to plead with Demont to stop. "I wanna play with your pretty tits a little more, baby," Demont insisted, and his deep, golden molasses voice made Josh's senses swim. "I can't hold out much longer, bae. I wanna make you mine." A few days later, Demont asked Josh's parents for their son's hand in marriage. "You have our blessing," said Martin. The small but lovely ceremony was held in the Midler's back yard, attended by a few of Josh's family and friends, and Demont's best man, a tall, dark, polite gentleman named Errol with a Caribbean accent. Josh vowed "to love, honor, and obey until death do us part," as Demont slid the ring onto his finger, promising in turn to love and honor. It was probably nervousness that made Demont forget to say "obey." That's what Josh assumed, loving Demont all the more if that was even possible. After the reception, the newlyweds took a limo to the hotel. Alone at last, Demont crushed Josh in his muscular arms. They kissed amorously for a long time. "You were a beautiful bride," said Demont. "Husband, you mean. We're husbands now. Man and man." "I'm the man," Demont asserted. "You're my faggot wife." "Don't tell my friends," Josh tittered, loving the way Demont talked sometimes. "Forget your friends." "I can't forget my friends." "You're gonna be too busy taking care of me," said Demont, pointing Josh in the direction of the bathroom, giving him a firm slap on the butt. "Now get ready. Daddy's waiting." Josh skipped into the bathroom, as Demont turned on the stereo. As Nelly chanted, "It's gettin hot in here, so take off all your clothes," Demont stripped down to black silk boxers. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to get pricked by the long stemmed roses, and lit a cigarette. The expression on his face was grim for a moment, as if he was doing calculations in his head, before he smiled. Demont looked like a man who had everything he wanted. For the moment. At least. He put out the cigarette. Time to get this party started. Josh walked back into the room, naked, covering his privates like a coy maiden. His slim, hairless figure shone in the candle light like porcelain. Perky nipples protruded from his pectoral mounds like tiny pink erasers. "Turn around," said Demont. "I wanna see that ass." Josh's soft, plump cheeks jiggled slightly like marshmallows. "Come here. This is what I have been waiting for." Josh gasped with desire at the sight of his man in black silk boxers. Broad shoulders and bulging arms, brawny chest, and chiseled abs were everything the virgin twink ever wanted in a husband. Maybe not everything. There was something going on under Demont's boxers that caught Josh's attention and would not let go. He had never seen Demont's cock before, but he knew it was big and hard because he felt it through Demont's trousers when they slow danced. Josh never watched gay porn, but he read a lot of gay romance novels with cute titles like "Boot Camp Boyfriends," "Romeo and Mercutio," and "Beach Boys in Love." Consequently, Josh expected the consummation of marriage to be a passionate fusion of body and soul making them one with the sun, the moon, the tide, and all the forces of nature. It was going to be beautiful. Sublime. "I love this bitch ass," Demont muttered, squeezing Josh's buttocks with both hands. Josh did not mind the way Demont talked. Men were supposed to be a little crude, a little rough at times. "Lay down on the bed," said Demont. "Let me clear off the roses first." "Fuck the roses. Get on the bed!" Demont stepped out of his shorts. His huge black cock sprang to attention, bigger than anything Josh ever imagined. Thorns scratched Josh's back as Demont spread Josh's legs and reached between the whiteboy's milky thighs. A large index finger found the virgin hole and slowly pushed its way inside, stretching the sphincter as if it were a hymen. "Ohhhh, that hurts," Josh twisted. "Because you're so fucking tight!" snapped Demont. "Go slow," Josh pleaded. "Relax, baby. I know what I'm doing. You're not my first virgin, you know." "Demont, I mean it! You're hurting me." "It's only gonna hurt for a moment!" "Please! Stop!" "Too late for that." "I mean it! Stop! Don't touch me!" Josh squealed. Demont jerked his finger from Josh's hole, and slapped Josh hard across the face with the back of his hand. Tears flooded Josh's eyes. No one had ever struck him before. He did not understand why this was happening. "I will touch you when I want and any fucking way that I want, understand?" Demont growled. "Get on your belly. I'm tired of waiting. I want that pussy now!" Demont flipped Josh like a rag doll, spit on his throbbing cock, and pressed the bulbous black head against the puckered cherry. For a moment it seemed the hole would not open, but with a sudden forceful lunge, Demont was in by several inches. Josh cried out in pain, like a man being torn apart. Another thrust took Demont even deeper into the tightest cunt he ever fucked. "It's too BIG!" Josh howled. "You'll get used to it!" Demont snorted. "I can't!" Josh pleaded. "Yahhh, you gonna!" Demont drove eight and a half inches into the tight, pristine pussy. He pumped slowly at first, pulling out by slow degrees and then plunging again to the hilt. He wanted Josh to feel every inch of his great-girthed, iron-hard, ebony truncheon. Slowly, deliberately, in and out of Josh's cunt he thrust, before picking up speed. The brass bed frame rocked, the headboard banged the wall. Rose stems snapped, petals fluttered. Josh began working his agile body in response, welcoming every long, deep thrust with a loud groan of pleasure. With a little effort, he was able to tighten his hole like a clamp. Like Demont said, he was getting used to it. "Now you're feelin me," Demont grunted. "You need this big dick, don't you!" It was true. Josh realized now. More than anything in this world, he needed to be fucked. He needed cock. At last he understood. Sex is not an act of tenderness. It's urgent, raw, and violent, it transcends pain and pleasure. When two bodies meet, one gives and the other takes. That's the cosmic equation. Yin and yang. One inserts, one receives. One rules, one submits. This was bliss. He would do anything for Demont. "Fuck me!" he begged. "Fuck me!" "I'm just getting started!" The pounding increased, faster and harder, deeper and deeper. as Demont's hands mauled tits and slapped that jelly ass. He held Josh down by the throat, and laughed, ""You like it rough, don't you!" "Oh my god, yes, yes," Josh gurgled, bucking his hips. "You my bitch now, right?" "Yes, yes, I'm your bitch!" "I'm gonna skeet!" Demont roared. Bullets of white-hot sperm burst inside Josh's battered body like fireworks, a paroxysm of fire filling him with ecstasy. Followed by oblivion. When Josh opened his eyes, Demont was dragging slowly off a cigarette. "You're awake," grunted Demont. "How you feelin?" "I don't know. Different." "I know. I feel different too." "Everything is different," replied Josh, dreamily. "Ready to go again?" "So soon?" Josh gasped, then caught himself. "Of course. For you, anytime. I want that now." "Not me, baby." "I don't understand?" "I made a promise to a friend," Demont shrugged. "What do you mean?" Josh realized they were not alone. The best man was leaning against a wall in his plaid boxers, arms folded against his bare chest, with a broad grin on his face. How long had he been standing there, wondered Josh. "I told Errol you would suck him off after I took your cherry. He's my best friend. I know you gonna do this for me. Am I right, baby?" "I don't know," Josh hesitated. "You're my faggot wife now," said Demont. "I can share you with my best friend if I want. That's a husband's privilege." "Can I share you with my friend?" retorted Josh, only to regret it a second later when Demont's open palm went upside his head. "Watch your mouth, bitch!" "I'll do it!" Josh moaned. "Good girl." The Jamaican stepped out of his drawers. His dark cock was long and curved like an over-ripe banana. Maybe not as big as Demont's, but menacing nonetheless. "On yor knees, batty boy," ordered Demont. "Gimme suma dat good heddd!" Errol's cock expanded as it slid between Josh's pretty lips. "Dere ya go, buai, suck like dat," said Errol. "Suck dat hose!" This was, of course, Josh's first experience with performing fellatio, and he was not very skilled, although not for lack of trying. Even a seasoned cocksucker would have had trouble with what Errol was bringing. After half an hour of steady sucking, Josh tasted cum for the first time. It oozed down his sore, ravaged throat like honey, and it tasted like mangoes and cream and some exotic flavor Josh had never known before. It was then Josh realized there was a small party going on in the next room. Music and voices, laughter, merriment. Sound of something shattering. But where was Demont? "Yo mon bizzy right now," said Errol, as if he could read the whiteboy's unspoken thoughts. "Don't worry none, you gonna be bizzy in a minute." He left the room laughing, leaving Josh dazed, on his knees, his pale naked body scratched all over by thorns. A minute later, Errol was back with a tall, lanky black kid in black pants and a wifebeater, probably one of the hotel staff. "Coo yah," said Errol. "You wanna jook him or git yo knob polished?" "Can't I get both?" "Whatever you want bra." "Do I have to?" Josh squeaked. "Yes, lil batty boy, it's what yo husband wants. You vowed to obey im. I was dere." "Is there a problem?" Demont leaned into the room. "Yo batty boy doesn't want to do his job." Towel wrapped around his waist, holding a flute of champagne, Demont squatted down in front of Josh and looked him square in the eye. "I want you to take care of this friend of mine," he said, sternly. "You promised to obey me, and I take our vows very seriously. Don't you?" Josh hung his head in shame, uncertainty, confusion. "I axed you a question, bitch! Do you or do you not honor your wedding vows. If so, say: Yes I do, Daddy!" "Yes, I do, Daddy," Josh softly complied. Demont snorted with derision. "We're not gonna have this conversation again, are we." "No, Daddy." Demont summoned the lanky kid with a wave. "What's your name, boy?" "Jermaine." "Aiiight, Josh, meet Jermaine. He's a good friend of mine, so show him a good time while I get back to the party." Before the wedding night was over, Josh met more than a few of Demont's good friends. One after the other, sometimes two together. At one point it seemed he was surrounded by a group of black men, laughing, touching him, using him, but Josh could not be sure what was real and what he dreamed. His body was sore. Every muscle ached, but especially his jaw and rectum. They would never be the same again. Yet he was content. He liked being pummeled by horny strangers with big cocks, used over and over again. The music died about an hour before sunlight spilled through the open balcony doors. Bodies were sprawled on the floor and furniture. Empty glasses, empty bottles. Ashtrays overflowing. Josh lay across the rumpled bed on his belly, passed out with a pillow still propping his ass, scratched and bloodied. Crushed crimson petals everywhere. Blood on the sheets. He would gone on dreaming blissfully but for the rough hand which slapped his butt cheek with a resounding whack! Josh opened his eyes, and saw Demont looming over him with his cock hard and a wolfish smile spread across his face. "Bitch, you got somethin to say?" "Please, daddy, fuck your faggot wife." THE END Epilogue There were many more nights like that for Josh. Neither of them worked since Josh had to look after the house, cook, wash clothes, and cater to Demont's persistent sexual needs. Not to mention Demont's many friends. Demont sold his landscaping business and invested some of Josh's trust fund into a venture which paid off big. Good thing, because two mothers with newborns were coming at him for child support. Eventually, Demont allowed Josh to wait on tables at a tony restaurant to supplement his income. If nothing else, it paid for Josh's cannabis. By the time Josh turned thirty, his trust fund was exhausted. Demont divorced him and was awarded palimony for the rest of his life, whether he remarried or not. Of course, Demont was remarried within the year to a young stock broker he met at the Jersey shore. Josh moved back home with his parents, drained, used up, washed out. He was no longer a twink. His youth had faded. He grew old and weak, haunted by memories, forever wondering what did he do wrong to drive Demont away? Why wasn't he good enough? One time, twenty-five years after their divorce, Josh spotted Demont in a department store accompanied by a young blond twink with innocent eyes. Demont had not aged a day. It was uncanny.