Page 54 - Titanic: Forbidden Stories Hollywood Forgot

40 Jack Fritscher

and rammed me first, churning up my cheeks, his hand
gripping my hair, Max’s fingers stuffing my nose. I was
foaming like a mad dog in the noonday sun, loving it,
knowing who I was, not knowing what I was, my mind
reeling mixed meta phors my professors would have
shamed me for, but here was no shame, not in this sport-
ing frolic. Titanic was a dreamship come true, a phantasm
of imagination made so real only a fool could not actualize
realities larger than his wildest fantasies.
Max tilted my nose left and right. Brice plunged right
and left, calling for more absinthe. Max poured the hot
liqueur straight from the bottle on Brice’s cock. I gulped
the churning foam, sinking beneath the battering ram
of cock. Max pulled my nose up, gently. My eyes opened
wide. The length of his huge dick spanned across my
face, forehead to chin, its head red, slick, and dripping.
Blue veins, thick as snakes, coiled tight around the log
of his thick shaft. Brice held steady, docked in my right
cheek. Max’s face grinned way above his cock which
loomed larger, closer than his head. He held my nose in
place. Quiet set tled on the three of us frozen in place like
competing athletes waiting for the starter’s gun. Sure as
shooting, Max, driving his hard ramrod, pumping it in
slow tattoo against my face, teased open my lips locked
down on Brice’s cock, slipping down alongside the length
of carpenter cock, never hesitat ing, his cockhead, driven
by his shaft, sliding across my tongue, snaking inch by
inch to the back of my throat, docking with the O-ring,
touching, teasing the mem brane, readying to screw my
head on to my shoulders.
He pulled his fingers slowly from my nostrils as he
slowly drove his cock down my throat. He gave my breath

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