by A. M. Riley
Scott moaned and shivered. Jim scrabbled at the headboard until he found the restraints that always lay tangled somewhere there and looped them quickly around Scott’s wrists. Scott merely moaned and acquiesced.
It was almost too much for Jim. Scott never just let himself be restrained. He almost always put up some kind of resistance, but now he kept whispering, “Please.”
Jim sat at the foot of the bed, finally, panting. Scott’s hands were bound behind him. He lay face down, on bound and bent knees, bubble butt high and vulnerable, and he just kept moaning, “Please, Sir.”
Jim was almost crying when he entered Scott.
He’d taken care not to tie Scott too tightly, and he was slow and easy when he fucked Scott. Scott’s behind had endured a lot in the past twenty-four hours, and Jim didn’t want to hurt his partner. He just loved the feeling that he could dominate Scott so.
“Harder, Sir,” whispered Scott. “Please, Sir.”
“Really?”
“Please,” whispered Scott.
Jim groaned and pumped harder. Scott’s continuous pleas and his own excitement and Scott’s complete subservience sent Jim over the edge almost immediately.
He untied Scott as soon as he’d caught his breath, and his partner lay under him, mouth open and soft, tongue receiving Jim’s, hands loosely caressing Jim’s arms as they smooched.
Jim looked down at Scott, feeling like a hole had been blown through his middle somehow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Sir,” whispered Scott.
Dazed, amazed, and grateful, Jim laid his head down next to his partner. In just a few minutes, he was asleep.
* * * *
Paul was out in the garage working on his bike. The radio was bumping out an old Clash song, his arms were up to their elbows in grease, he’d just had a mind-blowing blowjob, and all was definitely A-OK with the world.
He heard the tiniest little mouselike knock at the door, and he looked up to see Brian standing there. His uninjured eye wide and blue, his hair unbound and falling in ringlets around his shoulders, he wore nothing but a pair of white Fruit of the Looms.
White Fruit of the Looms.
Paul snapped his lips closed and reached up to turn off the radio. “Yes, Brian?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. But the phone is for you.” Brian held out a cell phone. Paul jumped up and took it, giving that ass in its white cotton briefs a little pinch as he did so.
“Hello? Ah, yes, Guy, we did. This afternoon?” Paul looked at the clock above his workbench. “Yes, I think I can do that. Okay, see you there.” He gave the phone back to Brian. “Going to go talk to those new principals about the dealership, hon.”
“Yes, sir,” said Brian.
Paul tousled that pretty head. “How’s the homework?”
“I’m almost done, Sir,” said Brian. “I’ll go finish it now.” He padded off.
Wiping his hands clean and frowning thoughtfully, Paul followed Brian through the hallway to go to the kitchen. On his way, he saw Scott standing facing a corner, hands on his head and very still.
He stopped. Jim was out having the van detailed, and Paul couldn’t recall having punished Scott for anything.
“Why are you in the corner?”
“I swore, Sir.”
“Is Jim home?” He hadn’t seen or heard him return.
“No, Sir. But I accidentally said the F-word, so I’m standing in the corner.”
Paul stared at him. From their bedroom, he could hear the click click click of Brian’s keyboard as his boyfriend dutifully did his homework.
With a growing sense of unease, Paul went into the kitchen to clean up for his meeting.
* * * *
The financial men seemed even more enthusiastic than Paul had hoped. He and Brian had worked out the numbers already, but they’d planned on it being at least another two years before they’d be in a position to take the risk.
The money men seemed to think that completely unnecessary. In a bear market, the Harleys were still moving like hotcakes. Faster, even, with the rising cost of gas.
Paul came back feeling optimistic and cheery.
Better yet, his house smelled like fresh-baked bread, and his partner was padding openly around the living room in nothing but his harness and a pair of loose boxer shorts. The gauze pad was gone, and Paul was relieved to see that Brian’s eye, while still discolored, was almost completely back to normal.
Paul swept Brian up and kissed him deeply and thoroughly, lifting him up on his toes. Then he placed him carefully back on the ground and looked around. “Where are Jim and Scott?”
Brian’s smile was merry. “They’ve been in Jim’s bedroom almost all day.”
Paul chuckled. “Well, it smells like Jim had time to bake.”
Brian nodded. “Scott helped him.”
“Scott helped cook?” Weird.
He was going to comment on this, but Brian chose that moment to drop his boxer shorts.
He was half-erect, and a leather cock-and-ball ring was attached to the harness. Half-smiling and whipping his hair flirtatiously as he did so, Brian spun on one foot and walked toward the bedroom, his perfect round butt rolling with every step. The dildo fastened in the back of the harness was red and very obvious.
Paul followed like a dog after a steak. He hoped his tongue wasn’t hanging out.
* * * *
A trail of boots, socks, and clothing led straight to where Paul knelt on the bed behind Brian, fucking like a machine.
He was drenched in sweat. It dribbled and pooled between his ass cheeks and behind his knees. His sweaty hands slipped where he gripped Brian’s hips. The blowjob that morning had taken the edge off, and his body seemed capable of going on for hours.
Brian rocked against him, as fast and hard as Paul. On every third or fourth thrust, he twisted his hips just so, and Paul groaned loudly as Brian’s channel rubbed here and there.
The cock ring was still on. Paul could feel it as his slippery fingers held Brian’s cock. His partner moaned and cried out, and they moved with even more frenzy.
Just when he thought he’d have an attack or a stroke, he felt Brian’s hand come up and work the release on the cock ring. Brian’s body froze, straining and quivering, and warm sticky come shot between Paul’s fingers. That was the last straw. Paul thrust one more time, shouting some kind of hallelujah, and he came.
* * * *
“Would you like some more sangria?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you.” Jim reached over when Scott’s back was turned and surreptitiously pinched himself on the arm.
His baby was feeding him grapes and strawberries and bits of fruit in bed. He was feeding himself as well, using Jim’s body as a plate. Sticky fruit and chocolate sauce still remained over parts of his skin where his cock stuck up like a fire hydrant, red and happy and practically glowing.
Jim was either dead or sleeping. He pinched himself again.
Scott handed him a refilled wineglass of sangria punch and strolled to the end of the bed. Jim sipped the wine and watched him, legs spread to accommodate his swollen balls. Scott stopped at the vantage point right between Jim’s legs. He was naked except for the black collar around his neck.
“You know, when I’m on the road, I sometimes take a few friends along.”
Jim nodded. He knew that Scott packed dildos when he traveled.
“I thought you might be interested in knowing what I do with them.”
Scott turned and brought a dildo out from behind the platter of fruit slices. Jim felt his swollen, sticky dick swell as Scott experimentally weighed the thing in his hand. It was black and thick and about twelve inches long, with a bright red on/off switch at the base.
“I call this one Jim,” said Scott. “I wonder why.” Scott looked up at Jim quickly from beneath those golden lashes. “You need something, babe?”
Jim shook his head no.
“You sure? You don’t want another strawberry?”
“I’m sur
e,” said Jim hoarsely. He sipped his sangria.
“Okay. Good. You tell me if you want anything,” said Scott. He turned, his round perfect butt thrust toward Jim as he leaned on the dresser. He held the dildo out, pushed the switch. It started to buzz and jump.
Scott bent one arm back and applied the thing to his shoulder muscle.
“Mmm, feels so good,” he said.
Jim whimpered and grasped his own dick. Scott turned quickly. “You want me to do that for you, babe?”
Jim nodded, desperate, and Scott went over and crawled up between Jim’s legs, still holding the vibrating dildo in his hand. Scott bent over and rubbed at his crack with it.
“You know what I think about when I massage myself with this, Jim baby?”
Scott leaned forward and licked the head of Jim’s cock. Once, twice. Little licks. His elbow rose and fell slowly as he rubbed the dildo up and down, and then, Jim realized, he could see what Scott was doing with the dildo, in the mirror facing their bed.
He whimpered and grabbed at his cock again, but Scott beat him to it, wrapping his mouth around Jim and sucking as he stuck the tip of that fat dildo into his hole and pushed.
Jim moaned. The glass of sangria spilled on the bed. Scott’s tongue did some kind of evil tribal dance around the head of Jim’s cock, and the black dildo slid farther and farther up Scott’s ass.
Scott moaned around Jim’s cock, his butt writhed, the dildo had almost completely disappeared, and suddenly he sucked Jim down, all the way, the palate of his throat pressing Jim’s cockhead. Scott’s head bobbed up and down, and his hand thrust the dildo in and out.
Jim thrashed, hands flying out to catch hold of whatever they could. Sperm, blood, bone marrow from his spine, and all the bits of brain he had left flooded out of his penis while a light show blew open his mind.
For about three seconds, Jim was the Buddha.
Jim managed to open his eyelids far enough to see his lover. Scott’s body arched back, his fist flew up and down his swollen cock, and then he was flying, coming all over Jim’s groin. Jim passed out, a loopy smile on his face.
* * * *
“How’s it going?”
Brian and Scott lay across Scott’s bed eating graham crackers.
“Okay. It’s fun, you know?”
“Yeah. That’s the best part.” Brian had his hair in a ponytail, and he wore old cutoffs and a T-shirt. He lay on his stomach on the bed, his sneakered feet waving in the air behind him.
Scott wore sweats and socks. “I get cold, off and on,” he said.
“Yes.” Brian nodded. “When I first started wearing only boxers indoors, I’d get cold. But the convenience, you know, outweighs the chill.” He grinned.
“I see your point,” said Scott. “And then there’s that dopey look Jim gets on his face.”
“Oh, yeah. That look where his one eye gets bigger and his eyebrow does this?” Brian perfectly impersonated a besotted and sideswiped-by-lust Jim.
Scott hooted. “That’s it.”
They lay on the bed and cracked up.
Brian sobered after a bit. “Hey,” he said. “There’s something I haven’t told anybody. Can I show it to you?”
Scott nodded, watching as his friend slid off the bed and fetched something from his back pocket. It was a much folded envelope. Frowning curiously, Scott took it from him and opened it. Read the contents. He whistled.
“How long have you had this?”
“Two months.”
“Oh, boy, Brian. Paul’s gonna blow a fuse.”
“Yep.”
They were both silent, contemplating this.
“What are you going to do?” asked Scott finally.
Brian shook his head.
“What do you want to do?” asked Scott pointedly.
Brian’s brow furrowed into a dozen little lines, and he laid his head down on his arm. “I don’t know. I know exactly what Paul would say.”
“That’s not what I asked,” said Scott.
Brian looked at him. “What would you do?”
“Doesn’t matter, and you know it,” said Scott.
Brian buried his face in his folded arms. “Argh.”
Scott reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Whatever you do, I’m behind you, buddy. You got that?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Scott.”
There was a bump and some noise from the interior of the house. “Uh-oh,” said Scott, sliding off the bed. “Duty calls.”
He yanked the sweatshirt off and slipped the sweatpants down. He was about to pull off the ankle socks, but Brian said, “No.”
“No?” said Scott.
Brian looked him up and down, gave him a wise look. “Leave ’em. Trust me.”
* * * *
Jim came out of the bathroom after his shower, steam following him, patting his furry chest dry, and found Scott sitting on the bed in nothing but a pair of white ankle socks.
His poor exhausted cock twitched.
“Hey,” he said. “Did you nap?”
“Yes, Sir,” said Scott. He rose, looking dutiful and a little shy even, standing there with his weight on one leg, one arm behind him, holding the other elbow, chin down a bit.
If Jim thought there was the remotest possibility he could get it up again, he would have thrown Scott onto the mattress.
“I have some errands,” said Jim. He chuckled. “I seem to have gotten distracted. Are your chores done?”
“I washed the floor and took the recycling bin down to the street. I raked the lawn,” Scott enumerated. “And I saw that the laundry needed to go into the dryer, so I went ahead and did that and folded it.”
Jim’s entire body was numbed by large quantities of mind-blowing sex, but a prickle of unease ran up his spine.
“Really?”
“Yes, Sir.” Scott looked suddenly worried. “Was that all right, Sir?”
Christ. The man was his heart’s desire, and here Jim was making him feel wrong about it. “’Course it was.” He drew Scott against him and kissed the man. “Thanks. You want to come with me on my errands?”
“Yes, please,” said Scott.
“Okay. Think you’d better get dressed then.”
* * * *
When Paul woke from his sex-induced coma, he found Brian in the living room, dusting.
His boyfriend had shed the harness, but he was wearing the tighty-whities again, his package darker and swelling the pocket in the front. He’d donned one of Jim’s kitchen aprons and went around the bookcases and mantel on tippie-toe, dusting. Every time he lifted his arm, the briefs flashed.
Paul leaned against the doorjamb, watching, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Brian seemed to sense him and stopped. “Hello.”
Paul exerted an extreme effort and straightened. “You getting all your chores done?”
“Yes, Sir. My homework is done, and I ironed my shirts, and when the dusting is done, I was going to ask you if you wanted me to iron yours too.”
Paul got that weird feeling again, but his mind was struggling past a miasma of lust, so he just said, “That won’t be necessary. So, it sounds like we have some free time. What would you like to do?”
Brian smiled a sweet smile. “Anything you’d like to do, Daddy.” He raised the duster and whisked away at a shelf. The apron rose, and Paul was flashed again.
He cleared his throat. “How about we order a pizza and rent a movie?”
“I’d like that, Sir,” said Brian, dusting away.
“Good. I’m…um…going to finish in the garage. You can…um…call me when you’re done.”
White Fruit of the Looms floating in his head like sugarplums, Paul wandered back out to the garage.
The minute Paul closed the garage door behind him, Brian dropped the feather duster, shed the apron, and sneezed. Thank goodness. He’d been standing in front of that mantel forever waiting for Paul to come out of the bedroom.
He heard a thunk in the garage and grimaced.
Goodness, he hoped his man didn’t hurt himself with any power tools or anything.
Humming to himself, Brian gathered up his cleaning supplies and went off to get himself “dressed” for dinner.
* * * *
“Hold on a minute,” said Jim. He came around the van and stopped Scott, who’d been lifting a box for him. Jim laid the back of his hand across Scott’s forehead. “You’re feeling okay, Scott, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Jim.” Scott looked up at him, pretty eyes bright and adoring. In the sunlight, the hazel flecks in them were easy to see. He smiled, the dimple in his cheek deepening.
Jim lowered his hand. “Okay then.”
Scott lifted the box, biceps bulging under T-shirt sleeves, and then straightened, butt muscles bulging as well in the supershort shorts he’d chosen to wear. He climbed the stairs, a vision from heaven, in Jim’s opinion, and stood calmly waiting at the door for Jim to open it.
“Where do you want this?” asked Scott, preceding his lover into the house.
“The kitchen,” said Jim. “I’ll…uh…get the rest from the car.”
Brian came padding into the living room at that moment. He was wearing loose blue thin sweatpants and, it appeared, not much else. His feet were bare, and his hair was loose on his shoulders again.
“Hi, Jim!” he said brightly and went into Jim’s arms just like that, smelling like soapy boy and fabric softener. “Paul said we could order pizza and a movie tonight. If it’s okay with you?”
Okay with him? “Sure,” said Jim. “Of course. Where is Paul?”
“Garage,” said Brian. “Can I help with anything?”
“You can help Scott unpack in the kitchen.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Brian, turning to do so. The sweatpants hung on his hips, and the swell of his butt showed when he turned around. Watching Brian walk across the living room was hypnotic.
Jim caught himself gaping and snapped his lips closed. He frowned thoughtfully as he went back out to the van for the other box of supplies.
“Paul,” he called, poking his head into the garage, “can I talk to you for a minute?”
Paul looked up from under a muffler. He was whistling. “Yes?”
