Two Good Men [Hell's Delight: Unbridled 3] (Siren Pubishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)

by Karen Mercury

  I got to admit, Dodge glowed with the pride of fatherhood. “Ten.”

  I snorted. “You don’t look nearly old enough.”

  “Thanks. I’m thirty. Yeah, I got married because she was pregnant. And yeah, I’ve heard of birth control. But look what came of it. Ryan is a gem. He wanted to come with me today, but my cousin took him to see the One Tree Hills play a game.” The One Tree Hills were our local minor league baseball team. “He’s obsessed with baseball. Registration for Little League doesn’t open until November.”

  It was only April, and I felt a twinge of regret on his behalf. I remembered wanting to join Little League in Goodnight, Texas. But my daddy said I had to help with the herd. If he’d had his way, I wouldn’t even have a GED diploma. But I do. “I know the feeling. I loved baseball, but I was sort of forced into rodeo. I much rather would’ve played ball.”

  Dodge put on a look of mock sorrow. “Oh. So now you’re stuck with the glamour, the lights, the fame of the rodeo.”

  I shrugged, my hands buried deep in my pockets. “It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I flashed my sexiest grin at him. “I like what you do. Bring me along next time you fit a critter for a cast.”

  Clearly, Dodge was taken aback at my demanding invitation. But hell. He’d been the one spying on me as I performed at the top of my game. Dodge couldn’t take his round eyes off Adam’s mouth-watering butt as I slapped the hell out of it. No doubt he was ogling Adam’s big hard-on, too. It always got hotter and harder the more I slapped it.

  But I know this drooling sheet metal worker was eyeballing my dick, too. My faded jeans were tighter than bark on a tree, cradling my famously “kingsize” slab of beef. I’d caught him eyeballing my crotch several times since we let Firewater trot around the corral.

  And this time, I didn’t slap his shoulder. I lay my hand gently on it. He was wearing one of those T-shirts made to look faded and frayed that are about as thick as a piece of tissue. His trapezius, his deltoid was firmly made, I guessed from years of working sheet metal. In a way, his strength was like mine. Crafted by years of roping, pulling, jumping, clutching with the thighs, shaping the calves against the horse’s shoulders. When Dodge had come toward me from behind his truck, I’d noted the outline of his long cock against his pants leg. It turned him on, watching me perform. I liked nothing more than an appreciative audience. Dodge was vanilla, dopey enough to marry a girl just because she was pregnant. No doubt he’d never seen two men touch each other, and he was probably shocked to find it turned him on.

  I squeezed his flesh. “Come on. I promise I won’t say anything or butt in in any way. I just want to see what a do-gooder like you does all day.”

  “Oh!” he said, as if that made all the difference. “Sure, why not? My next client is actually a sheep. Or possibly a Weimaraner dog, if the sheep’s owner can’t see me tomorrow. But right now I’ve got to get back to the hotel.”

  Was his dick lengthening again because I wouldn’t let go of his shoulder? I hadn’t seduced a bicurious man in quite a while. Every molecule in my body danced with the allure of seduction, making my nipples tingle, my balls vibrate. I hadn’t had a chance to get off with Adam, and my ballsac was tight with jizz. That was all Dodge’s fault. He’d interrupted our scene. It was up to him to make it up to me.

  I tried to look him in the eye. But with my hand clutching his shoulder, he seemed too embarrassed to look at me. I wound up chasing his eyes, bending down, looking up, but he ducked from me. “Rodeo isn’t doing any good for anyone, you hear? And scening, like you saw me doing earlier. What good does that do? It’s just temporary gratification.”

  I said no more, just bent and swerved, trying to catch his eye. He was looking everywhere but at me. He mumbled, “I didn’t see anything earlier…”

  I finally released my grip. Now I slapped him against the chest in a backhand. “Ah, like hell! You were admiring every square inch of my friend’s dick, and you weren’t running away screaming at the sight of my dominating technique.”

  Now he giggled, nervous. His hands were sunk deep into his cargo pockets, and it looked like he was trying to adjust or hide his erection. “I didn’t see any dick…”

  Now that pissed me off. What were we, politicians? Flat-out lying in the face of photographic evidence? Taking another step closer to him, our noses practically touched. I nearly stepped on his steel-toed boots with my cowboy ones. “Oh yeah?” Boldly, I reached out and grabbed a handful of his cock. As I suspected. Nice and long, a juicy, meaty hose. He gasped, but other than that, didn’t respond. “Then why’s your rod so stiff when you think about it?”

  Half-amused and half-angry, he wrapped his fingers around my wrist and tried to pull me off him. But I was clutching that beefy hose. Oh yeah. And he still wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Look, I didn’t see anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I squeezed his dick, massaged it. I rolled my palm down its length, smushing the mushroom-shaped cockhead against his thigh. Loose pants were nice sometimes. Although I had a feeling Dodge would wear ’em tight from now on. “Are you trying to tell me, you’ve never gotten hard thinking of another guy’s dick?”

  “Never!”

  “Never, aside from now?”

  He laughed, trying to push me away with his palms against my chest. But he wasn’t trying very hard. “I’m just hard now because you’re playing with me!”

  I stifled my laugh. A couple drops of jizz darkened the khaki fabric under my hand. “Any guy as straight as a shooting star isn’t gonna get hard, no matter how much finesse I use to fondle you.” As I’d predicted, the word “fondle” made his cock jump, probably squirt some more. “Damnation, you delicious slab of man. I do believe I can make you shoot inside your little boy’s pants just by handling you.”

  That did it. Although I had a firm grasp on his hose, his fingers around my wrist increased their pressure. Seemed he aimed to break my wrist, or at least cut off circulation in my caressing fingers, so I had no choice but to let go.

  And fire danced in those eyes. He was angry, in denial. His half-mast stiffie told me otherwise, but those flaming eyes told me he’d push back. I sort of liked that, I found. Maybe I was getting tired of the usual namby-pamby twunks, otters, and cubs. The thought that Dodge had never touched another man had all the fine hairs standing up on my chest, my balls. How much fun would that be, turning him? Convincing him it was cock and not pussy he’d been wanting to gorge on all these years? Hell, he could’ve walked away a long time ago. He was still looking at me, fiery, his chest heaving with his panting. His luscious, full lips glistened with his spit. And his swollen cockhead was pointed right at me.

  This guy didn’t know it yet, but he was going to be on his knees inhaling my dick before the week was out.

  And wondering why he’d been missing it all his life.

  I nodded down at his crotch. “Made you jizz.”

  His hands covered his erection. “Did not! Listen, I just told you. I just got divorced. I’m a ladies’ man. Well, not recently. Too busy with my work and my son. But just ’cause you’re gay doesn’t mean every guy on the planet has secret lusts that way.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “So tell me. You’ve never once been turned on by a guy touching you. Not just now, not before that.”

  “Never,” he vowed.

  “You got a hard-on an hour ago, when you were being a voyeur peeping through my window.”

  “Did not.”

  I nodded. “All right, tough guy. We’ll see about that.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. His erection was flagging as his anger mounted. “If you think you’re going to grab my dick while I’m fitting a sheep for a prosthetic, you can forget about coming along with me. Now, I think I need to increase the height of Firewater’s leg.”

  He stalked off, giving me a good view of his rounded ass. “You coming to the rodeo?” I called out.

  His response was to raise his middle finger at me.


  His submission would be beautiful. Dodge Hendy was born to worship my God-cock.

  I was going to lead him to a better existence through service.

  Chapter Three

  Dodge

  “So, Dodge…she wants to see Ryan.”

  I sighed deeply. Georgia might’ve been expecting a bigger reaction from me than a stupid sigh, but I’d been prepared for this.

  Her phone call had caught me on top of a ladder bolting together an air conditioning duct in the Calaveras Hotel. I had to set aside the drill and clamber halfway down the ladder before giving my cousin a response. “I figured that. I knew deep down Cindy couldn’t just abandon her son like that, no matter how carried away in love she was with that fucker.”

  Georgia sighed now. “I know, Dodge. What I don’t think you’re ready for is ‘that fucker’ to assume the role of a stepfather.”

  A nauseating chill shot through my stomach. She was right. I hadn’t thought of that. That fucking auto mechanic—oh, so he was a BMW mechanic, that made all the fucking difference in the world—would be coming to my door, taking my son to ball games, buying him hot dogs. Rubbing his shitty, lowbrow, sitcom-watching lifestyle in my son’s face. Seriously, that guy channel-surfed night and day, from what I knew from dropping Cindy off to get her car from his shop. The TV was always on, and he had a poster of Kim Kardashian’s big ass and an asinine sign that declared “Mechanics have bigger tools.” In general, Phil Dickweed wasn’t anyone I wanted around my son, much less buying him video games.

  “No, I’m not ready for that.”

  “So what are you going to do? Allow Cindy to see Ryan, but not let Phil in on it? I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “I’ll see a lawyer. Right now I’m not even ready to let Cindy see him, to be honest. She’s proven herself to be irresponsible and immature and not halfway up to the task of raising a kid.”

  “I know. You’re a much better parent. But can you deny her her rights? Maybe supervised visits, like Angelina and Brad.”

  I snorted. I had no idea what Angelina and Brad did, but supervised visits were already stretching the limits of acceptance with me. “We’ll fucking see. How did you end the conversation with Cindy?”

  “Well, I said I’d talk to you, of course. She wanted to come by tonight and see Ry—”

  “Tonight?” I fumed, rattling a blueprint around. It was a Sunday, and there were only a couple other guys, another electrician and a laborer, working in the hotel. I had been expecting to fit that prosthesis on that Weimaraner today, but my boss called me in to work. I was a newbie and had to play by the rules. I couldn’t be testing them already. “No fucking way in hell. What did you tell her?”

  “That I’d have to ask you, of course.”

  “Well, call her back and tell her no,” I snapped. I nearly tore the head off the laborer who entered the hotel room, cluelessly wandering around looking for something. “She’s not coming near our house.”

  Georgia agreed to be my emissary, and we hung up. I gave the laborer the hammer he wanted, feeling more like bashing him over the head with it.

  Cindy had raked me over the coals, cheating with Phil for over a year before she got up the gumption to run off with him. During that time, she’d ignored poor Ryan. I’d had two jobs, working at a Budweiser plant for the union, then trying to get my orthotic career off the ground, studying and fabricating limbs.

  I was in my fifteenth year in the sheet metal workers’ union, but I’d much rather make prosthetics for animals. I had a degree in kinesiology and sports medicine from Pennsylvania State and my certification in orthotics at Northwestern. I was finishing my prosthetics certification through the U of Connecticut while I supported them. I literally hadn’t had time to drive Ryan around, and that had been my understanding with Cindy from the start. She’d be the traditional stay-at-home mom. And I’d be the typical, maybe old-fashioned dad, paying the mortgage and watching my kid grow up, if only from afar.

  When Cindy bailed, I’d been thrown for a loop. I’d expected her to maybe move in with Phil across town and still help with Ryan. But no. Phil had decided to open up a new repair shop another hour south down in Los Baños. Cindy had vanished along with Phil, and I hadn’t seen her again for six months before moving to Hell’s Delight to be with my cousin. I was just lucky Georgia worked at home freelance making PowerPoint presentations for clients. Her schedule was flexible, and she’d always wanted a kid. She was the perfect helpmate, but I still rarely saw Ryan. Orthotics were taking off in a big way what with all the animals around town—almost too much for me to fit in the hotel job. Maybe once the hotel was done, I could focus on fake limbs. When school was out in the summer, Ryan could come along with me on house calls.

  One thing I got to say, fuming about my ex took my mind off that frustrating bastard rodeo star, Kingsize Taylor.

  It had been three days since he’d grabbed my cock, and it was all I could think about—all I could jack off to. What was happening to me? I was thirty years old. Wouldn’t I know if I had gay tendencies by now? Had my experience with Cindy turned me off to women? But the whole event—first peeping at him spanking that guy’s ass and wishing I was that guy, then standing there as he boldly fondled my hard dick—left me in a permanent state of arousal.

  Kingsize was one dominating fucker, that was for sure. He had the balls to grab a stranger’s penis in the middle of a corral where any cowboy wandering by could see. Or maybe they were all gay cowboys. But you know what? I liked the attention. I think that’s why I got hard. Attention of any sort was new to me, having been a dull married man for a decade. Any chick, of course, grabbing my dick like that would’ve had the same effect. It was the attention I craved.

  And I secretly wanted to see King again, to see if he still wanted me.

  Of course my mind had wandered during those “hand to gland combat” sessions. What exactly did King want me for? Spanking? That turned me on. I imagined myself in that submissive guy’s place, King’s big erection framed by his tight leather chaps rubbing against my bare hip. I had figured out that the Bottoms Up was a gay club in Sacramento, so I fantasized we were there, being admired by a dozen horny men. My ass was on display as King forced me to spread my thighs, exhibiting my long, stiff penis.

  As the sadist had done to the masochist while I looked breathlessly through the blinds, he now slapped my hard-on. A dozen men groaned their approval as my stiffie bounced. They fondled their own erections, some encased in cock cages, bulging G-strings, jockstraps.

  Jockstraps? That was how I figured out that my current fantasy was spurred by my college experience. That was all!

  What a relief! I wasn’t gay at all. I could indulge in this nightclub fantasy all I wanted without fear that I secretly wished to enact it. It just harkened me back to that locker room incident, where I had become horny, too, for obvious reasons.

  “Dodge?” The laborer poked his head into my room. “I’m going to get coffee. You want one?”

  “Sure. Black, no cream.”

  In my dream, there was a sort of beauty in my submission. Allowing myself to be inspected by all those men displayed all my perceived flaws, yet none of them saw any. I may have been dangling from ceiling cuffs, but I was working hard to please. There was joy in exhausting myself, because it was in service to everyone there. In a weird way, it made me the powerful one in the scene. I was turning on King, and he could do nothing about it. In my fantasy, nobody ejaculated. Except maybe me, in real life.

  I found, if I managed to continue the imaginary scene, that the more powerful and potent I became, the more of my life force I could give to King. The harder his spanking became, the more I withstood, the more imbued with strength I became. It really took a strong man to submit like that, to service a sadist like King. And I was that fucking man.

  Afterward, I always felt a little bit wrong and dirty, but it didn’t stop me from rewinding the whole scene and replaying it in the shower later.

  I was okay.
I wasn’t gay. I was naked and brave, and I just wanted to be dominated by a virile degenerate like King.

  “Oh, hey, some guy let me in the front door.”

  I jumped, banging my head on the side of the air conditioning duct. I slithered halfway down the ladder, drill in hand, flowing over the rungs like an unconscious cartoon character.

  What? I was just wishing King were here, and suddenly he was. Rubbing my head, I just gazed at him stupidly.

  He pointed at himself. His hair was down today, a champagne, almost white shade of blond. He’d slicked it back on top, giving him the look almost of a mullet, a professional wrestler or an MMA fighter. Yeah, I could see him twirling around a big stick. And beating me with it. “It’s me, Dodge. King. Firewater’s prosthetic leg?”

  I chuckled. “Of course. I knew that. Just, ah, got my head into my work.”

  Eyeballing me up and down fully, King took a couple steps toward me. “Work keeps you jacked. I like that. A naturally buff man, built from doing good honest work.”

  Well, that pretty much answered my question. King wants me. With ego puffed now, I allowed myself to eyeball the rodeo star. “As your work does for you.”

  “Yeah,” he said with confidence. He slapped his own abs. “Busting bronc gives you abs of steel. Might not look hard, but they’re hard as the hand of a plowman.”

  I grinned. “Shakespeare again! You’re a one-of-a-kind cowboy, that’s for sure.”

  King looked less sure of himself. “Yeah, uh. That’s kind of why I came here, Dodge. I wanted to apologize for my disgusting behavior the other day. I never should’ve grabbed you or involved you in my fantasy.”

  In his fantasy? If only he knew how prominently he’d been figuring in mine. I opened my mouth to protest, but King wanted to unload.

  “You and I have a work relationship, that’s all. It was completely out of line for me to grab your cock, as luscious and juicy as it might be.” Yes, and growing by the inch as you speak. Again, I’d worn the loose cargo pants, not expecting to be confronted with a smoking-hot cowboy while installing AC ducts. “You’re right, Dodge. I believe you’re straight. It doesn’t present a very honest and considerate view of gays if we’re going to be running around mauling the straight vanillas.”