Page 51 - Titanic: Forbidden Stories Hollywood Forgot

Titanic! 37

that I gulped with out resistance down my throat. They
knew what they were doing. My teeth retracted. My jaw
dropped. My throat opened to a tunnel of fire. My head
went ab sent without leave, absinthe with out leave, I say
now, and I fell into my sexual essence: I was no less than
an open mouth with a hard cock kneeling before 18 inch es
of dick backed with enough male authority to rouse me to
a fevered, perverted pitch, hungry, starving for the face-
fuck of the seedbearers, who, dickhead to dickhead, came
v-shaped from left and right to rape my willing mouth.
Edward once had worked his sculler’s fist all the way
into my mouth and my passion for him had let me take
the pleasure of his hard-knuckled fullness, my teeth
wrapped tight around his thick wrist. My shipboard lust
was no less for this anonymous pair of silent, brooding,
insistent seamen. I was no more than a nine-hour virgin,
having shot my load the night before watching the Stoker
fuck Edward, but that was five hours more than I needed
to reload fully, especially fueled by the sight of their big
bodies, pronged with their pair of absinthe-slick dicks,
closing in on me.
All the giddiness of Edward dubbing me “Queen
Michael” and Molly crowning me with her embar rassing
Hapsburg tiara was forgot ten in the serious business at
hand.
I had cock to suck.
I thought.
But I was wrong.
Brice and Max weren’t seek ing sucking.
They were fuckers, face-fuckers.
I was their face.
I was incidental.

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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