by Johnny Miles
Beauregard’s words shook Jackson to the core, and he forced himself not to think of his first time. But as he reprimanded himself, as his inner voice begged Jackson to leave—to go in search of Griffin—every lurid detail of the night he lost his virginity crept to the surface from where it dwelled and rooted Jackson to the spot.
Despite Jackson’s best intentions, he couldn’t leave now. He had become one with Michael, and in that moment, their minds were locked together. Horrified, yet excited by the taboo of becoming one with another, Jackson slipped into Michael’s mind. He watched everything Beauregard did to Michael, but physically and spiritually, Jackson felt every spank, kiss, and lick as though he were the one bent over the metal table.
Jackson’s cock stiffened. When Beauregard dropped to his knees and buried his face in Michael’s ass, Jackson thought he’d swoon. He grew wet as Beauregard lapped and rimmed, then pulled away. Jackson didn’t need to see the domineering way in which the burly police officer stood. He knew. Nor did he need to see the massive, torpedo-like cock poised to penetrate Michael, though it was a sight to behold. Jackson shivered with anticipation.
Beauregard thrust.
Jackson sucked air in hard, swallowed, and gritted his teeth. He exhaled as Michael banged cuffed fists on the table. Jackson noted the sheer pain etched onto Michael’s face and wondered if he, Jackson, had made the same face. All at once, a euphoric sensation of bliss washed over Jackson. In the other room, the look on Michael's face was one of religious fervor.
Unexpectedly, Jackson sensed movement. Then someone spoke.
“Hot, isn’t it?”
Jackson lost his connection to Michael and was momentarily disoriented from the severe abruptness. He struggled with the jarring effect of slamming back into his own body, and it took a moment before he finally recognized the man standing before him.
“Griffin?” Jackson blinked. His blurred vision refocused. Dressed in worn, faded, form-fitting jeans, scuffed motorcycle boots, and a lumberjack shirt that accentuated every rippling muscle, Griffin approached wearing his most ingratiating smile.
“In the flesh.” Griffin stepped toward him.
Jackson didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as both anger and joy welled within him. He’d envisioned this moment, but not in a police station. He had imagined explosive anger, apologies, pleading, vows to do better. But not…whatever this was.
Then Jackson noticed the limp.
“Wh-what happened to you?” Jackson asked.
Griffin’s smile faltered. He paused. Jackson could tell he was trying to cover something up at a demonic speed or thinking of an excuse.
“I went drinking last weekend, had a bit too much, and…I fell and sprained my ankle stepping off the curb. Klutz, huh?” Griffin shrugged and gave a nervous chuckle.
“And you expect me to believe that?” Jackson knew instinctively something wasn’t right when something like red anger flashed in the man’s eyes. But as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, leaving Jackson uneasy.
“What? I drink.”
“Yes, I know you drink. We met in a bar, remember?”
A confused look crossed Griffin’s face, then quickly faded.
“You don’t think I remember that, do you?” Griffin spoke softly as he stepped closer, somewhat menacingly.
Jackson swallowed back a sudden fear. The man standing before Jackson definitely wasn’t Griffin. But who would impersonate Griffin, and why? “You don’t look like you remember. And you seem way too nonchalant after all this time.”
Griffin stopped inches away and sighed heavily. He cleared his throat, a distant look on his face. “I fucked up, okay? Can we just…move past that?”
Jackson switched tactics.
“You don’t know the agony I went through, Griffin. When I didn’t hear back from you, I…I feared the worse. I thought…”
“What did you think, sweetheart?” The Griffin look-alike sounded warmer, more caring. But now Jackson knew with certainty the man wasn’t Griffin. He’d called Jackson sweetheart. Griffin always called him babe, Jax, or Jackson, never baby or any other term of endearment.
“I—I don’t know what I thought.” Jackson racked his brain trying to tap his memory for a clue. “When I didn’t hear from you, I figured it was over.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth, Jackson. But…please. Can’t we talk about this later? It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you and…right now?” In the blink of an eye, the sorrow on Griffin’s face was replaced by maddening lust. He licked his lips lasciviously. “All I want to do is fuck the taste right out of your mouth.”
And there it was. There was only one person Jackson had ever known who used that phrase. But he couldn’t be here now, could he? Still, Jackson played the game, just in case.
“After all this time, I deserve an explana—”
But Jackson never finished. The Griffin look-alike cut him off, sealing Jackson’s lips with a kiss and his own thick, wet tongue probing Jackson’s mouth.
Jackson pulled away, but the Griffin look-alike held him in place. Jackson struggled, but the more he fought, the more impossible to escape the clutches of the Griffin look-alike. Jackson forced himself to relax.
“Yeah, that’s it. Just relax, baby. Let me make it up to you. Show you what you’ve been missing,” the Griffin look-alike whispered in Jackson’s ear. His moist tongue licked Jackson’s lobe, encircling the cartilage. Jackson gasped from the sudden realization.
“Black Pete.” Jackson’s voice was a whisper.
“So, you do remember. I’m flattered.” The Griffin look-alike pulled back and shot Jackson a lopsided smile. Thick, wavy red hair turned black with silver streaks as Jackson watched. The man’s hair grew to just above his collar, and his face morphed back into his own, a face Jackson remembered looking into while being fucked hard and deep and fast. Lined and weathered, this was the face of a man enjoying his late 40s. Once a painfully handsome man, Black Pete was still brutally good-looking, but his eyes told a different story.
In the black recesses of his pupils, Jackson saw the depths of despair and depravity. It seemed to go on for all of eternity, while the darkness of humanity, all the things Black Pete had witnessed throughout his lifetime, the things he’d done, filled Jackson’s heart with a weight so heavy he was certain he’d drown. Jackson gasped and wept, unable to resist the overwhelming sadness and centuries of horror that emanated from Black Pete.
Tears rolled down Jackson’s cheeks.
“Hush, now. No need to cry, sweetheart. I’m here. It’s okay. I’ll make things right. You’ll see. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t want to see Griffin ever again.” Black Pete shushed Jackson. He pulled Jackson close in an attempt to comfort, but his touch was anything but. Jackson cringed as if millions of cockroaches crawled over his flesh. He wanted to pull away but found himself too weak to struggle.
This is it, then. This is where I finally die. But without a fight? And in Black Pete’s arms?
Strangely, Jackson realized with disgust there was a part of him that was ready for the end. He’d lived long enough to do anything and everything he wanted at least once. He’d seen the Civil War and had lived through both World Wars. Presidents had come and gone, political regimes swung to and fro. He’d loved and watched his lovers die. He’d even been around the world…thrice! Hadn’t it been enough? Wasn’t it time to say good-bye? Was there anything else worth living for? Perhaps it was a good thing. Living as long as he had had its advantages, but largely, it was a lonely life.
Jackson sucked air in sharply and expelled it.
But even as he faced and acknowledged that dark part of him, Jackson realized there was still more to learn, new things to do and experience, new places to see.
And there was always Griffin. The real Griffin. Once they got back together, assuming he was still interested, there was no telling where they’d end up or how far into the future they might go. But first Jackson had to get to him.
A voice suddenly popped into his head. A voice that was as loud and clear they’d been standing in the same room.
“Where the hell are you, Jackson? Why don’t you answer me?”
“Griffin? Oh, Griffin. It’s me. I’m here!”
Jackson felt a spark flutter to life within him He pushed Black Pete away. The man stumbled backward, his brow furrowed. Then he smiled the most evil smile and arched an eyebrow.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? That’s how you want it? Fine by me. Either way I’m not letting you go again. You’re mine, and I’m taking you with me.”
Black Pete was a blur as he rushed toward Jackson, who stepped out of the way in the nick of time. He felt Black Pete grasp his shirt. It ripped as Jackson pulled away, and he stood there, naked from the waist up.
“Oh, yesss,” Black Pete hissed and licked his lips, the tip of his tongue slithering out like that of a serpent’s. Jackson eyed him cautiously. “This is how I like it. I just didn’t think you had the stomach for the cat-and-mouse game.”
“Whatever I did to you, whatever I said, I’m sorry.”
“You said…you said you loved me. Don’t you remember?”
“I…I thought I did. Once.”
Black Pete recoiled as if he’d been slapped.
“But you swore your soul to me. That Christmas Eve. Paris. You and me atop the Eiffel Tower. I took you there. Rode you hard, like the whore I know you to be…fucked you to within an inch of your life while the city lights glittered at our feet. You vowed to spend the rest of your days with me.”
“I was a child, Pete. How could you have expected me to keep any of the promises I made?”
Black Pete seemed to be in turmoil.
“But…I filled you. I filled you with everything I had to offer. I touched your soul. That’s what you said, when we came together. Remember? You said…you said you wanted to be with me. You said…you loved me.”
“Then I guess we both lied,” Jackson said after a moment of silence. “You told me you were single.”
“But I was. Don’t you remember the…divorce? It left her in pieces.” Black Pete arched an eyebrow, momentarily amused though his body practically trembled with a rising, tumultuous anger.
Jackson swallowed, suddenly uncertain, but raised his chin in daring defiance. Then visions rushed into his mind, visions of things he’d have preferred not to see. Glints of light off something curved, sharp, and dangerous. And he heard as well as saw the dull thunks as Black Pete hacked his wife to pieces. Blood splattered everywhere. Horrified screams as Black Pete’s wife was dismembered alive, the soundtrack, Jackson knew, to Black Pete’s life.
It now echoed in his own brain. Jackson sobbed.
“She cheated on me.” Black Pete grinned like a madman. “She emasculated me in front of my father, before my brothers. What was I supposed to do?”
“But you cheated on her first. With me!”
“You were different, Jackson. I fell in love with you.”
The room grew quiet.
“Well…I didn’t love you.” Jackson struggled to regain his composure.
“Why did you lie?” Black Pete’s face was a canvas of hurt.
“I guess I wanted to see how far I could take it. How far you’d let me go.” Jackson felt guilty for playing with the man’s emotions. “My father warned me. He told me not to go near you. I guess a part of me wanted to see if the things he said about you were true. Another part of me just…” Jackson shrugged. “All my life I’d heard so much about the…wicked son. The bad seed. For me you were just—”
“Another fucking conquest. You see? I was right about you, wasn’t I? You’re nothing but a whore!”
Black Pete let loose with a wounded cry and rushed. Jackson sailed clear across the room from the impact, landing on his back. He winced as he rolled onto all fours. He tried to stand. He needed to get away. His powers were no match for Black Pete’s. Older, bigger, stronger, Black Pete was full-blown Magical. Hatred and anger rolled off him in waves. There was no way Jackson could compete.
“Griffin? Father? Can either of you hear me? Help me! I’m with Black Pete and he’s—”
“You think they’re going to help you? Pathetic.” Black Pete roared with laughter. He grabbed Jackson by the waistband of his jeans. He ripped them off without effort and simultaneously hauled Jackson up with one fell swoop.
“One of them, your precious Griffin, is about to get his soul devoured, right here in this very same police station. The other, your father, is still circling like the insane, drunk homeless man that he is.”
Jackson stood, albeit wobbly, naked except for socks and sneakers. He felt Black Pete’s gaze on his flesh, heard him groan with lust.
“So fucking beautiful. So toned. Smooth. And you’ve filled out, too. In all the right places. Turn around. Let me see that glorious ass.” Black Pete stripped quickly as he spoke.
“No,” Jackson spat defiantly.
“What do you mean, no?”
“Exactly what it means.” Jackson stepped sideways.
Black Pete blocked him. “Don’t make me ask twice, cunt.”
“Fuck you.” Jackson tried to get around him.
“Oh no, sweetheart. Fuck you.” Black Pete’s cock bobbed as it rose. He grabbed Jackson by the arm and spun him around. He slammed Jackson against the wall. Jackson sucked in his breath, then grimaced as Black Pete crudely grabbed at his ass.
“Are you as tight as I remember? Do you still get wet like good pussy? I’m going to enjoy fucking you inside out.”
“Stop. Please. I’ll…I’ll do anything, just…not that, Pete. Please. I belong to ano—”
“You fucking hypocrite. You say you don’t want me to fuck you. That you belong to another. Yet there you are, pushing your ass out toward me. How long has it been?”
Jackson remained silent, refusing to answer. Black Pete gave an evil laugh.
“You fucking bitch slut pussy whore. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you? Hungry for the cock that popped your cherry. Hungry for the cock that took you as a boy and turned you into a man. I’m the only one that can satisfy you. Who else can you possibly belong to? Surely not that fool Griffin. Damn Goody Two-shoes doesn’t know how to fulfill a sub bottom cunt like you.”
“Griffin”—Jackson swallowed hard—“is more of a man than you’ll ever be. He’s good and kind and loves me.”
“Does he now? I suppose that’s why he stopped calling. Oh, yes. You don’t think I know about that? I read his mind. I saw his memories. I know what he feels and doesn’t feel. And what he doesn’t feel is love for you.”
“Liar!” Jackson closed his eyes and reminded himself that Black Pete had always been about the lies. That was how he knew who was bad and who was good. Through lies, he found out the truth. It was how he got to the darkness at the center of all men’s souls.
Black Pete thrust a finger inside Jackson, penetrating that innermost sanctum.
Caught off guard, Jackson screamed. His rectum throbbed with pain from the invasion. He struggled to break free, except the more he fought, the more strength Black Pete applied. Pinned to the wall, Jackson realized the excruciating vulnerability of his nakedness. Then he felt the head of Black Pete’s cock, hot and throbbing and angry. It pressed against the tender ring of flesh.
No! This…is not…happening!
Jackson closed his eyes and reached deep into his soul, deeper than he’d ever gone before. He felt the source of his power, his life energy. It rose to the surface. Jackson tingled with its power, now aglow with the current, even though his eyes were still closed. It continued to gather strength as Jackson reached beyond, tapping not just his own power but that of everything around him, including the building itself. When he could no longer control the white heat, Jackson expelled the electrical fury.
In the rest of the building, the power went out with a groan. In the observation room, Black Pete went flying. Light on his feet, Jackson spun and ran. Using
Mindspeak, he called out to his father. Briefly, he wondered if he’d have enough time to find Griffin. A split second later he tumbled to the ground as Black Pete tackled him from behind. Jackson tried to get away, but Black Pete was too heavy.
And too powerful.
“Go ahead, you pretty little cock tease. Struggle. Fight me. It won’t do you a bit of good. And you know why? Because you’re going to get exactly what you deserve. Don’t think I forgot how you used to wiggle that sweet ass of yours or bat those pretty little eyelashes at me, pretending to be all coy and innocent. Temptress bitch. You led me astray!”
Black Pete hawked up a gob of acidic spit and spat. Jackson cried out from the pain.
The lights went on.
Black Pete licked the back of Jackson’s neck, making sure the poison had no place to go but into Jackson’s bloodstream. He Magicked bindings to keep Jackson in place, then wormed down toward that most tender of spots. The one thing his wife had and would never give him. And yet, Jackson did. With a deep, thrusting pressure, Black Pete lapped at the opening. He circled the bud like a cyclone, first in one direction, then the other.
Appalled, Jackson realized he had an erection. As much as he hated Black Pete at that moment, Jackson hated his own body even more for betraying him in such a fashion.
He burst into tears.
Stop it, Jackson told himself. Don’t give in to the fear. This is exactly what he wants. But it was difficult not to cave when you had more than 200 pounds of solid muscle on top of you and a foot-long cock throbbing salaciously against your ass.
Jackson gasped as Black Pete thrust forward with a grunt.
Inch by agonizing inch, Jackson took it, barely able to breath from the pressure. His vision grew cloudy, and his head swam as Black Pete pulled out, then pushed back in. With every forward thrust, Black Pete sank deeper until, finally, he was buried balls-deep inside Jackson.
But Jackson was no longer there. He’d slipped somewhere safe. From there, he saw himself being taken as though it were happening to someone else.
Black Pete’s body grew in size as the demon he’d culled, the beast he’d become, pushed Black Pete’s human form aside and revealed itself. His skin morphed. It became gray and wrinkled, covered in sharp, coarse black hair, like needles. Horns emerged from his temples and corkscrewed even as his face elongated. His breath was hot and heavy, and it stank of putrid humanity as he continued to fuck, deep and hard, each stroke filled with hate.
