by A. M. Riley
“I hear you,” said Paul. He sipped his wine. “Well, have you chosen?”
On the coffee table before them lay an assortment from Scott’s dildo collection. Vibrating, jellies, ribbed, and glow-in-the-dark.
“I’m torn between the blue two-foot jellied and your standard vibrator,” said Jim.
“I like to stick to the classics,” said Paul. “Your basic oiled footlong, you know?”
“Mmmm,” said Jim.
A muffled moan sounded, and they both looked up. It was hard to say which of their two men was in more dire straits. Scott was pink from head to toe, his butt straining. But Brian was covered in a sheen of perspiration, and those normally bright clear eyes were wild.
Smiling, Jim and Paul rose and selected their instruments.
* * * *
At least he didn’t need to pee. Brian’s bladder was used to three-hour lectures anyway, but he was so hard he figured he wouldn’t have been able to tell even if it was full. Scott had whimpered a lot about an hour ago, and a dribble of something had sounded out on the floorboards.
“Oh dear,” Jim had said when he next passed by. He’d cleaned it up and still left them there. That was when Brian knew that they were going to die there. And he didn’t care really, if he’d only be allowed to come one more time before he did.
His balls were throbbing. The leather seemed to be becoming softer and warmer and nicer every minute, yet his restraints did not loosen at all. Nice job, he told himself. Brian the dungeon master. He apparently had a knack for tying things up.
Paul had come home, and for just a few seconds Brian had hoped he’d be liberated, but the look in his daddy’s eyes sent despair into his belly.
And then they’d brought the dildos out, and Scott had grunted and whined, and Brian figured their men were going to have pity. But then they sat there for what seemed like hours, drinking wine and eating crackers and discussing the weather.
Finally they stood, and Brian felt, with a relief so intense, it almost made him pass out, Paul’s hand on his backside.
Then came the smoothest touch of fingers in his crack. Then oil. Next to him, Scott’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he was moaning loudly around the ball gag. Then Paul’s fingers rubbed up and down, and Brian was groaning also.
The head of the dildo sat at his hole. Slowly, slowly, it was pressed in. Almost there, Brian was weeping with need, and the dildo retreated. Fingers pressed him open again. Then, slowly, slowly, the dildo was pressed in once more. Almost there. Next to him, Scott was whimpering, sharp cries sounding around the gag, his neck muscles straining, and then the dildo was pressed just there.
Oh. God. Brian’s whole body went rigid, shot through with electricity. Press, press, press. He could only strain, sensation and heat, like a downed electrical line, whipping through him. The dildo retreated just fractionally, and then suddenly it was pumping into him, hard, long, firm strokes, and Brian shuddered and shook and pumped come into the welcoming leather.
* * * *
“Let’s see your wrists.”
Paul lifted Brian’s arms, one at a time, from the warm bathwater. They were red but not bruised. He shook his head, kissing Brian’s palm. “You could have really hurt yourself.”
“I’m not an idiot,” said Brian sourly. His head rested against an inflatable pillow. The warm scented water was up to his neck.
“No?”
Brian opened one eye just a crack. His daddy knelt by the tub naked, the snakes seeming to almost wink and crawl over him in the candlelight and reflections off Brian’s bathwater. The last tiny crumb of resentment Brian might have been feeling for being left tied to a leather horse for three hours just fizzled away.
“Where are you going to set it up?” he said.
Paul looked at him, and the heat in his eyes was truly inspiring. Brian’s cock, still throbbing between his legs, started floating upward. He grinned.
Paul grinned back. “I thought we should have a meeting and vote,” he said.
“We need another room,” said Brian.
Paul laughed. “It might bring up the value of the house.”
“A dungeon as a real estate draw,” said Brian meditatively. “Only in Silver Lake.”
“I don’t really like the word dungeon,” said Paul. “Maybe rec room?”
Brian smiled and let himself sink down so he could blow bubbles in the water, his hips sliding up and the head of his penis peeking up at his daddy with a hopeful look.
Paul smiled down at it. “Let’s get you to bed,” he said.
Chapter Fifteen
“Oh Susannah, oh don’t you cry for me, for I’m gone to Alabama with a boyfriend on my kneeee…eeee!” sang Scott at the top of his lungs. He was sailing up the I-9. He’d spent an hour at the last major truck stop checking his rig from top to bottom. All systems were, as the spacemen said, good to go, and he figured he was going to make about five hundred miles before nightfall.
“For I’m gone to Alabama with my boyfriend on my…” One of the many horse trailers he’d encountered on the road that afternoon was slowing rapidly in front of him. Scott started downshifting and signaling to change lanes. As he was whizzing by, still going a good naught sixty, he saw the trailer list badly sideways, and then the whole thing, truck and trailer, went off onto the soft shoulder and stalled.
Well, shit.
His mirrors saw no one coming or going. And though there were call boxes all along these main highways, and though no man in his right mind drove the open country without a cell phone these days, the fella behind him looked to be in the kind of trouble that needed help more immediately than might be available in the middle of Buttfuck.
Scott worked his rig off the side and threw on his flashers. He took his triangle warning signs down from behind him and hopped out of the cab.
As he ran back down the shoulder, he could see a man struggling with a horse. The trailer had sunk into the soft mud by the shoulder so that it listed at a forty-five-degree angle, and the horse looked as freaked out as any being would be finding itself in a moving vehicle tipping sideways for no good reason.
“Hey there!” yelled Scott, running up.
The man glanced at him. He was taller than Scott, but young with big green eyes as freaked out as the horse’s. He held the animal by the halter, something Scott would not have wanted to try, seeing the way the horse pulled and stomped its feet.
“Can I help?” said Scott hopelessly.
“The rope in the trailer.” The horse jumped again and almost lifted him from the ground.
Scott ran around to the back of the trailer. When it had tipped, it looked like the door in the back had swung open and then completely broken off. Bits of rider’s tack lay all over the ground, and Scott saw a longish rope and bridle there, so he grabbed them and ran back.
The man grabbed the rope, performed some kind of knot trick, and fastened the horse to the back of his truck. Then he leaned over, grabbed up a cowboy hat that had fallen into the dirt, dusted it off, clapped it back on his head, and sat on the fender with a great sigh of relief.
“Wow, sir. Thank you so much.” The hat pushed his hair down into his eyes, and he took it off, pushed the bangs back, and reapplied it. Now Scott could see dark brows over grass green eyes in a face not quite old enough to have even grown a proper beard. Those eyes regarded the horse trailer now. A look of dismay washed over his face. “Aw, hell,” he said.
Scott made a sympathetic grimace. “That’s gonna be a chore to get back on the road.”
“You think?”
“Christ, how’d you do that?”
“I think I blew a tire.”
They went round to the ditch side of the trailer, and sure enough, a naked rim with just the last vestiges of rubber was what they saw.
“You have a spare?” asked Scott.
The guy nodded. “Oh.” He held out his hand. “The name’s Joshua Miller, and I thank you.”
“Scott.” They shook. “You got a cell
phone?” asked Scott. “I can call triple A for you if you want.”
“Got an old CB radio in the truck,” said Joshua. He laughed. “Ain’t got triple A. Ain’t even got single A.”
Scott chuckled, dialing. “I’ll lend you my card. My b—friend lets me use an extra in case I need to rent a car or something… Hello? Yes…” And Scott wandered back and forth, finger in one ear, while he talked to the triple A people. Then he hung up.
“They’re gonna be a while, I’m afraid. This really is the middle of nowhere.”
Joshua looked worried. “Hey, I know you men hafta make a deadline. I don’t want to keep you.”
“Nah,” said Scott. “I push it hard for a few days so I can take it easy or make it back early. Don’t like stressing it. Or driving too tired.”
“That’s smart,” said Joshua. He was looking Scott over now. As if really seeing him.
“Your horse need anything?” asked Scott.
“I’ll get some hay outta the trailer if I can.” Joshua started climbing down the bank to get to the front of the trailer, his feet sliding.
“Hold on. Let me help you,” said Scott.
He and Joshua kept themselves busy until the triple A truck pulled up. There was a lot of logistical reckoning, and Scott waited to sign for his card, and then he shook Joshua’s hand. “Well, good luck.”
“Wait.” Joshua pulled out a card. “I’m at my uncle’s place in Redding. This is his horse and his trailer you’ve rescued. You come by, he’ll throw a steak on the grill for ya, I bet.”
“A steak?” said Scott. “I never say no to a steak. I’ll try to make it.”
He climbed back into the cab of his truck, slid it out onto the road, and gradually regained speed, the man with the pretty eyes and the beat-up horse trailer receding down the highway behind him.
Scott thought if he made up the mileage tomorrow, he could take time off for a steak dinner in Redding, easy.
* * * *
“Hullo? Jim?” Brian lay across the bed. He was showered, and his newly shorn hair stuck up around his head in wet peaks. He had a towel tied around his hips and a slim, shiny-buckled collar around his neck. He fingered it as he talked on the cell phone.
“Yes. We’re fine. Yeah. Work’s so cool. I love it. No, Paul went down to get the paper. We’re going to a bike show tomorrow. How’s Scott?”
He rolled over on the bed, letting the towel fall open and scooting up on the mattress as he did so. “How long? Man, you must be lonely? Oh.” Brian laughed. “You dirty old man. Yes, well, Paul said you’d like those pictures. Yeah, I bet I look embarrassed.”
Brian reached over and turned both bed lamps down to the lowest setting. Then, as he talked on the phone, he rummaged through the collection of bottles on the nightstand.
“Well, will you ask him to call when you hear from him? I miss that man. I know. I miss you too, Jim. Uh-huh. Okay. I will. Yeah. Love you too. Bye.”
Brian hung up. He turned the phone off and lay back, feet spread, and poured a pool of oil into his hand. Then he just sat there.
Within minutes, the doorknob rattled, and Paul’s familiar inked head and leather-clad shoulders came through the door. He dropped his keys on the table there and turned and said, “Erk.”
“Hey, Daddy,” said Brian, one hand up and gripping the spindle of the headboard, the other stroking his cock slowly with the oil. He opened his legs wider and rocked, arching.
Paul loosened his collar, unsnapping his gloves and shedding jacket and shirt rapidly. The snakes appeared as if from under veils.
Brian closed his eyes, lips parted, and rocked and stroked himself and said, “I’m thinking about you.”
“Yeah?” Paul didn’t bother to attempt to remove his boots or jeans, crawling up on the bed with his fly half-down.
“Thinking about how you feel”—Brian stroked himself, moaned—“when you grab my ankles.”
Paul grabbed Brian’s ankles. Brian’s legs tensed, and his pelvis twisted as Paul did so.
“And push my legs up…” whispered Brian, and felt his legs lifted, his ankles over Paul’s shoulders. Paul grinned and pulled down his zipper, releasing his cock from his briefs and pulling Brian’s hips toward him.
“And fuck me,” said Brian as Paul pressed in.
Grunting, Paul did just that. Pressing Brian down into the sheets and pillows, the headboard thumping against the wall, both of their hands working Brian’s cock until Paul suddenly reared back and roared, pistoning in and out hard, and Brian had to put both hands above him to keep his head from banging into the headboard.
Milky fluid spurted from Brian’s cock, and he screamed, “Daddy!” and Paul’s mouth closed over his. Paul’s back, ass, and thigh muscles strained until his head fell against Brian’s neck, and he groaned. He shoved one more time and collapsed across his bent lover.
“Can’t. Breathe,” squeaked Brian after a minute.
Paul scrambled up off him. “Sorry.”
“Oh man, don’t be.” Paul helped Brian unbend. “I talked to Jim.”
“Yeah?”
“Scott’s on the road for a few more days. Poor baby. Jim says thanks for the pictures.”
Paul laughed.
“Someday, when I’m a mogul, those pictures will be worth millions,” said Brian airily.
“They’re worth millions now,” said Paul.
“You think Bill Gates has any pictures like that of himself floating around?”
Paul shuddered. “I hope not.”
Brian stretched. It was a long, languorous catlike stretch, and it made Paul’s blue eyes go dark. “You hungry?”
“Yes.”
“For dinner.”
Paul gave him a look. “Yes.”
Brian stretched and rolled as if to sleep again. “Mmm, call me when it arrives.”
A loud swat landed on Brian’s round, white behind. “Get dressed,” said Paul.
Brian looked back at his lover, smiling. “Yes, Sir.”
* * * *
Redding was a big piece of nothing covered with one block of store fronts, a Walmart, and a car dealership catty-corner from a lot full of used horse trailers.
Scott drove slowly under the dangerously low-slung banner declaring it REDDING RODEO DAYS with a date on it from the distant past. He pulled up in front of the car dealership and got directions to the ranch listed on the card.
“You won’t wanna drive that rig up there, though,” said the man who appeared to be sales manager, cashier, and mechanical crew all in one.
“No?”
“Road’s a mess whenever we get a big storm like the one last week.”
So, feeling pretty rude at his presumption, he called the number on the card. Joshua sounded happy to hear from him, though, and told him to “set right there” so he could come pick Scott up.
The familiar truck pulled up. The familiar face with the big eyes and same dark hat looked out at him when Joshua flung open the passenger-side door. Joshua seemed changed, though. He was quiet, one elbow on the open window, finger resting lightly on the wheel, mouth small and pensive and eyes forward.
“Thanks for the offer,” said Scott, just to fill the silence. “I hope you meant it.”
“Uncle Rich, he says he’s glad I offered,” said Joshua, without turning his head. And then he said nothing else.
The easy friendliness of the young man Scott had met beside the highway seemed completely buried under this subdued man. The truck pulled up soon enough, though, to a long ranch house that seemed one of those types that began as a trailer home and then, with time and the odd additions, just sank into the land like it had grown there. A dotting of buildings stretched from the near right of the house off into the distance.
“That’s my uncle’s operation, that ways,” said Joshua, indicating the buildings and the fields beyond with a wave of his hand. He turned off the engine and hopped out of the truck.
Scott followed him up to the front door of the house, where Joshua p
aused, wiping his feet carefully and taking a deep breath before turning the handle.
“Uncle Rich?” he called. “We’re back, sir.”
An older man came down the hall, his voice and the sound of his rubber-tipped cane preceding him. “Close that door behind you, son.”
Joshua leaned back and closed the door firmly as a big man came round the corner. He was over six feet tall and must have weighed around two hundred and fifty pounds, Scott guessed, being kind of a connoisseur of big and tall men. There was a good bit of paunch stretching out the cotton of his traditionally styled snap-front cowboy shirt, but there was also still a lot of muscle in those shoulders and arms, and the calloused hand that shook Scott’s was a vise.
“Uncle Richard, this is Scott. Scott, this is my uncle, Richard Miller,” said Joshua, straight out of Emily Post.
“Sir,” said Scott.
“Thank you for rescuing my idiot nephew and my horse,” said Uncle Richard. “I’m pleased you decided to take time out to let us thank you proper.”
Scott glanced quickly at Joshua and saw that his eyes were averted, his cheeks pink. “Thank you for inviting me.”
* * * *
The clock on the mantel ticked. The ice in Scott’s iced tea clinked as he set it down, and the clock on the mantel ticked again.
Uncle Rich didn’t seem much inclined toward idle talk, and Joshua seemed unable to speak at all. Scott found that he was carrying the burden of the conversation himself, and he’d run out of things to say about the weather some time ago.
A dark woman with black hair in a severe bun came into the room, and Joshua sat up, almost eagerly. He said something to her in Spanish, and she answered in rapid pretty speech. Joshua started babbling away at her in Spanish, only pausing to say, “Dinner’s ready,” and the next thing Scott knew, they were sitting at a big table with bowls of beans and salsa and chips, three plates with steaks on them as big as an entire cow and a multicolored rice that smelled amazing.
Every man had a glass of water and a glass of beer at his spot. Scott didn’t drink when he was working, but he was too polite to decline. So he just let the glass sit there. He noticed that both Joshua and his uncle had a couple of refills from a man who came in with a pitcher.
