He greased that hand like you would not believe, working each one of the fingers inside me, pairing them, dividing them, teasing them. Two days before, he had worked me over on the couch like this while we watched a porn where two guys interrogated a prisoner who had allegedly smuggled film canisters in his ass. Travis wore surgical gloves, but in the video it had been a black glove. That night Travis had just about made me climb the walls, digging around in my ass, biting my ear as he whispered, “You got anything in there I need to find?” And I'd said, “Yeah. Get in there and get it.” But he couldn't find it, he said, so he'd have to dig deeper, and pretty soon I was begging and clutching and begging, sure that was going to be the time he went all the way in. But no.
There was no way it was going to be tonight, with him telling me we had to get up in the morning and go “east.” But the game was that I begged, so I did.
“What do you want, Roe?” He had his hand cupped, thumb tucked, four fingers pushed in to the first knuckle. I was so well greased you could have rammed a silage tower up my ass.
“I want your hand in my ass,” I rasped, and tried to fuck myself on his fingers. “I want to feel your fingers at the back of my throat. I want you to fuck me up to your elbow, sir. I want you to tickle me from the inside. I want that big, bad hand punching at me, making me whine. I want you to fuck me with your fist, Mr. Loving.”
It took me a bit to say all that. Speeches are tricky when you are acutely aware of your ass being stretched. If he'd get that hand in, it'd be a fucking relief. I'd be full as fuck, but the pain would ease. But then his fun of torturing me would end. And it was my job to take what he dished out, so I told him what I wanted, then got ready not to get it.
But that night he leaned over me, looked at me with wicked, wicked eyes, and said, “You remember, boy, that I always give you want you want.”
And he pushed inside.
To say I screamed would make it sound a lot more girly than a man sticking his hand up another man's ass should. The sound started at the base of my spine and came out the top of my head instead of my mouth. And I will not lie to you. There was a moment of pretty significant pain. But it wasn't tearing or anything dangerous. Just stretching. Just my body opening to take Travis inside where he wanted to go. And then he was in.
In. Inside me. I could feel him. It was alarming and arousing at once. It was like some kind of beautiful, terrible invader. I was very aware of my internal organs. It felt like I'd taken a demon in me, that all he had to do was open his hand, bare his claws, and snatch parts of me away. I had been waiting months for this, aching for the moment I could look down and see what it looked like to have his hand up me, but now that it was here, all I could do was look up at his face, caught like I have never been caught before.
He held my gaze. And then he turned his hand.
My cry was a moan this time. And when he started to thrust, it was like I was back in Iowa with the hogs, because all I could do was grunt, grunt, grunt, then moan-grunt again when he turned his hand. Oh, he loved turning that hand.
I loved and feared this act we were doing. On the one hand, this seemed like the dumbest fucking thing I could ever do. So dangerous. So dangerous. I was high the first time this had happened to me, and I knew I hadn't liked it, but I also didn't remember it, and I'm glad. This wasn't some game. This was huge, what I was letting him do to me. This was more than letting him at a few inches of my rectum. He was in me. This was more trust than I knew I had in me to give.
I realized then why I couldn't look away from his eyes, because there I could see that he knew all this too. He got what a big deal this was. And when I looked at him, I knew he was going to take good care of me.
He pushed in so deep that my eyes watered, and I licked my lips before opening them. Go in me here too.
He did.
We kissed like drunken fools while he plunged his fist in and out of me. That actually gives the wrong impression of what happened—fingers always go in first, but the image in my head is of his hand pounding at me. Of his arm going deep inside me. Of my being so open that after the first few thrusts, he just slipped in. We had watched more fisting videos than I could count; Travis's favorite was this one where some guy all tricked out in leather and spikes rammed his fist deep inside this guy bent over on a bench, punching with these quick thrusts before he—and here I always started to twitch and squirm—pulled one hand out and shoved the other one in, then alternated hands thrust for thrust. They showed him putting on a lot of lube, but I'm here to tell you it takes more than what they showed for even the easy stuff.
I thought of that guy and his ass-reaming now as Travis's tongue tangled around mine and his hand moved seamlessly in and out of me, still dangerous, but so in tune with me now that I could feel it. My whole body gave over to him. My body trusted him, not just my mind. Trusted him with everything.
He had never done this before with anybody. He had only done this with me. It was selfish as hell, but I wanted so badly for me to always be the only one, that no matter what happened I'd be the man who let him in this deep.
That first time we did not do it long. I could have gone all night, but he only gave me a few minutes, which was smart, but it made me crazy nuts. I attacked him when he pulled out, slurring and begging, telling him I needed more fucking, that I was a slut, Mr. Loving, and I needed some fucking now, please fuck me Mr. Loving, and the next thing I knew, his cock was buried in my throat. He straddled my head, grabbed my hair, and fucked my mouth, and I took it like a greedy bastard, jacking off the whole time. I felt dirty and raw and wonderful, and when he pulled out and came all over my face, I grinned and opened wide, shutting my eyes because he went fucking everywhere on me. And then I went everywhere all over myself. It was great.
He was really gentle with me after, cleaning me up head-to-toe in the bathroom, and grilling me like a mother hen about the state of my ass.
“I'm fine,” I told him for the fiftieth time. “Sore, yeah, but fine. Abso-fucking-lutely fine.”
He kissed me and stroked my ass cheek. “You were so beautiful. I shouldn't have, because we should already be sleeping. But I couldn't resist anymore.” Another kiss, this one deeper. “Thank you.”
We made out for a while, but he didn't let it go on too long, herding me to the bed instead. Though he did spoon up against my back and play with my nipples a little. This was the other part of the game, and the fisting apparently wasn't going to cut this part out.
“I wish we could do that every fucking night,” I said, shifting so he could get better access to my chest. I knew he wanted to rile me up good before telling me I had to get to sleep, and I wanted it too. I had the fucking craziest dreams when he did that to me.
He nuzzled the back of my neck and pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. “I'd like to keep you in a cage, legs tied open, ass strapped to a hole where I could come by and finger-fuck you any damn time I felt like it.”
I shivered. This was a newer game, where he turned into some sort of raunchy dungeon master and explained in graphic detail the ways he would enslave me. He said shit I knew he would never, ever do, but it really turned him on to say it to me. This sort of rough talk, where it wasn't just about sex but about me one step above a dog was not something I generally went in for, but when Travis said it, it sounded pretty good.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Yeah. I might let you out sometimes to bend you over my desk. You could hold yourself open for me and give me a pretty view.”
Okay, that made me squirm. “Mmm.”
He pinched hard again. “But where you'd look nicest is on a bench, your ass red and pointing in the air. I'd strap your ankles and wrists, and I'd make a day of your ass. You look so good with tails. But now that I know how much you like big things in your ass, we might have to make some changes. Bigger tails at least. And other things. Like I've shown you in those videos. You need a thick gag in your mouth too. I don't much feel like hearing you fuss when I do all
this to you. I just want to hear the slap of my hand on your ass and the slick of my arm going deep into you.”
Oh fuck, but I was whimpering and writhing against him now, and I was hard. Really fucking hard, even though my sore ass had sworn that wasn't possible.
Which is of course why he slid his hand down to my hip and patted it smartly. “Time to go to sleep.”
It took me almost an hour, and I dreamed I was tied up and passed around between seven sexy men who did nothing but finger my ass. That part of my anatomy was still sore in the morning when he woke me, but between the dream and everything he'd done to me the night before, I jacked off in the shower pretty much just by touching myself twice.
We'd done it. We'd actually done it. I felt like a deflowered virgin, even though technically it was my second time. I didn't care. I felt pretty fucking awesome. Whatever the hell we were doing “east,” it couldn't be better than what we'd done the night before.
I was so wrong.
We ate on the fly and took coffee to go, and then we did indeed go east. Halfway across the state, in fact, to a cozy little farm down a gravel road. It was a border collie rescue.
Dogs. He was getting me two dogs.
I didn't know what to say, so I just stared up at him. We were out at the kennels, and it was cold, and my ears were going numb underneath the hat he'd bought me for my birthday. His cheeks were pink as he grinned back at me.
“Oh, don't look so shocked. I knew you wanted dogs.”
Despite the cold, my face flushed with heat. “But you said you didn't want them.”
“I said I didn't want to fuss with them. But you do. So they're yours. Go check them all out and see if there are any you want to work with. We can do pups if you'd rather, but I thought maybe you'd like to see the rescue first.”
That last bit got to me in ways I hadn't anticipated. It was true—it'd be better to get pups from a litter, to know the parents and have them be stable, solid work dogs. But those were hard to find and expensive. All these dogs were ones owners had abandoned, and very few of them had been ranch dogs. Their owners had thought border collies would be cute and fun and had no idea how much work they were getting into. They were also frequently border collies with a bit of mutt in them. In short, they were a mess.
I ended up with a pair of two-year-olds named Ezra and Ezekiel, but I was already shortening them to Ez and Zeke while Travis wrote the check. I liked the shorter names because they'd be easy to bark out while we were working. And I meant these boys to work. They'd been out at somebody's acreage, presents for two little girls, but they were too rambunctious. The owners had meant well, but these dogs were more stir-crazy than most of their breed, and they needed some work to calm them the hell down. Trouble was, no ranch or farm wanted them because they were going to take too much time to train and might never come completely up to snuff.
And they were handfuls. Just getting them back to Nowhere was work enough. We had to stop three times to let them run, and in the end the only way they didn't drive Travis nuts was for me to sit in the back seat with them. This is his truck, mind you, so there I am with my legs sprawled, one of them angled up onto the front seat while two dogs climbed all over me wanting to tell me how much they liked me. After I accepted kisses for about an hour, they finally settled down, one on my chest and one across my groin, and they napped.
I must have too, because the next thing I knew, Travis was stroking my thigh, and we were closing in on the lane to the ranch.
It took me the better part of a month to get them to come to any kind of heel, and they were never going to win any championships. They were lucky to remember where their food dish was most days. But Ez and Zeke are good dogs, and they mind me enough to get the job done. And it makes me feel good when I come home and see them bounding down the lane to tell me they're glad to see me too.
The dogs were with us on Christmas morning, impatient because for reasons they couldn't understand I wasn't giving them any work, and to make matters worse, all kinds of people were coming over, which was of course Tory and his family. Eventually I had to take them out and give them a good run, and then I just let them loose to play in the snow.
When I came back, Haley was standing on the porch steps, her eyes red and shoulders hunched. She had been quiet all week, and she'd looked sick when she'd showed up, so I just figured she'd been out partying with her friends the night before. When I saw her standing there, I knew that wasn't it.
I don't know how it was that I knew the real trouble before she even told me. It was almost like some sort of sixth sense, and to be honest, it almost creeped me out. All I can tell you is that when she opened her mouth and said on a sob, “I'm pregnant,” I wasn't surprised. I was just damn sorry I'd been right.
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Chapter Nine
At first Haley had scared me a little, but she's actually one of the sweetest, nicest girls I ever met. She's also just about the toughest, and I know that sounds messed-up to say she is sweet and tough, but she manages it. Haley lures you into a soft place with her sweetness and keeps you out of trouble by being tough and stubborn. For the first time since ever, I had a friend, and Haley was it. Her dad was the best manager I'd ever worked for, and obviously I was intimate as all hell with Travis, but Haley was an actual friend. She was somebody I could laugh with or do things with and yeah, sometimes even talk with. She talked a hell of a lot more than me. But every now and again I told her things too.
Like, a few weeks before Christmas, I told her about the letters from home.
I hadn't planned to. It just sort of came out one night while Travis was riding and we were doing GED prep at the kitchen table. She was trying to explain essays to me again, which made me think of the letter, and then damned if I wasn't dumping all my dirty laundry all over. I did it in about six sentences, but it was more than I ever expected to give over, and I think for half a minute we both just sat there too shocked to move.
But eventually she asked questions, and I answered them, and that went on until I'd given her most of the sordid story. She knew about me getting kicked out. She knew about prison. She knew about Kayla and my parents both being sick and Bill's blank shots. And I told her too, that I didn't think I could go back. Then I waited, pretty sure she was going to hate me.
She didn't. She was pissed off, but not at me. In fact, she launched a stream of cussing at my family and my brother, and I decided then and there it would be best she never met Kayla, because one of them was going to get arrested. I honestly don't quite understand most of what she said, because Haley gets philosophical a lot, and most of it went over my head. She carried on about how they were happy to tell me about their lives but had absolutely no interest in mine, that they figured since I was gay, that meant my life was crap. That kind of hung around in my head awhile.
I had felt pretty comfortable with Haley before, but she felt like an old glove after that night. She taught me the GED stuff, but after that was done, she hung around and did stuff like tell me about her favorite music. She could sit for hours and go on and on about the poetry of the lyrics, and I swear to God, there were some songs she played for me where a certain note would hit and she would start to cry. It was nice music. Kind of like country but wasn't. Haley made me a CD of her favorites, and I played it sometimes while I worked in the kitchen.
Haley never bossed, and when she told me I did a good job, she never patronized me. Haley is a real class act. It cut me to the bone to see her like she was just now.
It was fucking cold outside—like, it was twenty below with windchill—and here she was, pregnant, not even wearing a coat. I could tell by the way she looked like she was about to go to pieces that I was the first she'd told, and that she'd waited to come here today and tell me. That she wanted just the two of us to go off and talk about it. I had no idea what in God's name I was going to say, but I figured mostly she needed to talk and to cry. I will tell you, I was damn scared. B
ut this was Haley. I had to do it.
I took my coat off, bussed a kiss on her cheek and squeezed her shoulder. “You go on up to my apartment over the barn. Turn the heat back up as high as you want. Let me just tell Travis where we've headed so people don't fuss, and I'll be up.”
She nodded, wiping her eyes on my coat sleeve. She looked like she wanted a hug, and I wanted to give her one, but I was mindful of that cold and gave her another gentle but firm, “Go on,” and she got. I relaxed a little as I saw Ez and Zeke catch up with her and follow her to the stairs. It would be hard to be too down with those nuts trying to cover her in slobber.
Travis was already looking for me, and I met him in the hall by his office. “I need to go sit with Haley a bit,” I told him. “I sent her to my apartment.”
That made him frown, but it was because I'd said “my.” His latest thing was to ask me why the hell I had to keep stuff over there when there was so much space at the house. I had my reasons, but I wasn't going to get into that now.
“She's in trouble,” I said, keeping my voice low, but as soon as I said the words, I knew they were the wrong ones. He was about to tell me how her dad and mom deserved to know if there was trouble, and before I knew what I was doing, I blurted, “She's pregnant.”
I felt bad telling him, because I knew Haley wanted it secret, but it felt good to tell him too. Everything got easier as soon as I got that off my chest.
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