The Hardest Thing

how you square it with your
macho Mafia facade? Okay. Not my idea of fun—I like’em wide awake and most definitely alive—but there was potential here. Not the kind of potential I’m usually thinking of—but the possibility of escape.
    It didn’t look good: I was drugged and bound, he was almost certainly armed. But the fact that he was rubbing his stiff cock against my unresisting lips was the first hopeful signal I’d had in a while.
    It felt good, and I would have been quite happy to suck it properly, but I reminded myself that I was supposed to be out cold. So I let him smoosh his sticky cockhead around my mouth and chin until it was coated with sticky stuff. Jesus, I thought, he must be very horny if he’s leaking like that. Poor bastard, hiding and pretending, and now that he’s got what he wanted, all he can do is scratch his dickhead against my stubble.
    “Fucking queer…” The voice even softer and rougher now, the sound of a man drifting into fantasy. Pathetic shithead, hating on the thing he really is. But there would be time for anger later. All I needed to know at this moment was that Ferrari’s dick was getting harder, that his hand was stroking my face, grabbing my chin, and that he was climbing further on to the bed in an attempt to penetrate my mouth properly. I guess he was planning to straddle my chest and fuck my face. I remembered how good his thighs and ass looked in those tight grey pants, and my cock started to stir.
    Unlikely, isn’t it? My life’s in danger, I’ve been beaten up, my ribs hurt so much with Ferrari clambering over me that it feels like someone’s sticking a kitchen knife in my side—and I’m getting a hard-on. I registered the sensation with surprise. In a combat situation—which
this was, despite the unorthodox position—your genitals usually shrivel. God’s way of protecting them for the better times. So why was I getting so very stiff? How come my cock was lifting the sheet off my body? How long before Ferrari noticed? At the moment he was intent on my mouth, but all he had to do was reach behind him or look around and he was going to see that I wasn’t as unconscious as I was meant to be.
    It didn’t take long. In clambering on to the bed Ferrari slid one leg over my body and encountered resistance. Several hard inches of resistance.
    “What the fuck…” he breathed, and grabbed me through the cloth. “Jesus. My god.” Like many men of his type, Ferrari turned to religion in times of temptation. He twisted around, the better to see what was in his hand. He squeezed, testing its girth. “How much did they give you?” he muttered. “Hey, Stagg!” A little louder. “Stagg!”
    Making sure I was still unconscious? Hoping to wake me for playtime? Either way was dangerous. I hedged my bets and managed a groan, opening my mouth wide enough to let his cockhead in. One groan quickly became a duet. I made sure he didn’t encounter teeth. Pushing his hips forward, Ferrari started to slip into my mouth—it was dry in there, I needed water, but he didn’t seem to mind—holding on to my dick behind him like a cowboy on a bronco saddle. Okay, I thought, we’re in business. One of us isn’t thinking straight, and it ain’t the one with a head full of anesthetic and a dick full of Viagra, or whatever they’d given me. How can I turn this situation around? I’m bound hand and foot to a metal bedstead, I’m sucking a man who probably has
a gun, and if I do something stupid, like biting him, he’ll probably kill me. He’s so hopped up on self-hatred he could do anything. I really don’t want to die because of Enrico Ferrari’s fucked-up libido.
    I opened up a little wider and brought my tongue into play, letting it move around the underside of his head, feeling the taut string of skin leading down from his pisshole. That did the trick—my salivary glands woke up and gave me enough spit to turn this from a dry, forced entry into something more like a blow job. Ferrari noticed the difference and let out a sigh. His left hand cupped the back of my head—fuck, that hurt; someone had hit me there and someone was going to pay—and his right hand plucked at the sheet, pulling it off my lower half. I felt the air on my stiff cock before Ferrari grabbed it again.
    “Fucking big dick,” he said. “Think you’re the man, don’t you, Stagg? The fucking marine major. Well look at you now. You fucking pussy.”
    Good. Keep it coming, asshole. While