by Ryan Field
"Are you okay, baby?” Brody finally asked. His voice was low and his entire body was now slick with perspiration. He caressed Chance's shoulders slowly.
He was hot, and Brody was heavy; he could never have imagined that a hot, sticky embrace could be so wonderful. “I'm fine. Can I suck you off?” he asked. He needed to have it in his body, to fill his mouth with the sweet nectar only Brody could give him.
Brody just smiled. “No, you can't. I want to please you tonight. I'm not big on going down on guys. It's just never been my thing. But there is something else I love to do, and I think you're going to like it just as much.” He reached down with his right hand and grabbed Chance's ass hard. He slid his middle finger toward the soft pink opening and said, “I'd like to get in there tonight, and fuck that tight little hole.” He poked and prodded gently, and then slid his finger all the way inside. When the lips of Chance's hole jerked and clamped on his finger, he smiled.
Chance jumped and his mouth opened wide. He arched his feet and adjusted his legs so Brody could go deeper. “Give it to me,” he said. He wanted Brody to fuck him; he wanted that big Navy cock to bang him into next week.
Brody's eyes opened wide when he heard how excited Chance was. “I'm gonna fuck you hard, baby. I'm gonna breed that fucking hot ass until you can't take it.” He moved his finger around slowly and said, “It feels like velvet in there."
There was no need to discuss safe sex again; Chance knew he was about to get fucked raw. “Give it to me, Brody. You can do whatever you want.” He hadn't actually been fucked since that one morning at the very beginning of summer, when the guy who delivered propane to the market had fucked him in the barn while Dan was still sleeping.
Brody slapped his ass and said, “Get up on your knees and lean against the back of the seat, bitch."
He rose to his knees and pressed his palms against the black leather seat. “Is this okay?"
Brody went behind him and placed his large hands gently on his waist. “Spread your legs a little wider so I can get some of that.” Then, suddenly apprehensive, “I don't have any lube, baby."
Chance arched his back and smiled. He almost laughed because it hadn't occurred to him there would be a need for lube. “Just spit on your cock and fuck me. It's not a good fuck unless it hurts a little.” Chance was responsible, and he always practiced safe sex if he didn't know who he was with, but he was by no means the type of bottom guy who would refused a good dick just because there wasn't lube.
So Brody covered his cock with saliva and pressed the tip into Chance's puckered bud. There was an instant of sharp pain that made Chance bite the side of his fist—so sharp, he was worried there would be teeth marks on his hand the next day. But Brody was slow and methodical. When Chance gasped, Brody stopped so he could get used to the sensation and the fullness of the experience. By the time the first half of Brody's erection was inside, the pain had subsided and Chance stopped biting his fist. It began to feel too good to be true—so good that Chance closed his eyes and started backing up.
Brody grabbed the sides of his ass, and said, “Fucking velvet in there, bitch. I'm gonna hammer you so hard you're gonna beg me to stop.” He was all the way in by then, and his pelvis was now pressed against Chance's ass.
Chance curled his toes and threw his head back. “Deeper,” he moaned, “Shove that big fucking cock in and out as hard as you can."
"You like getting fucked?” Brody asked, while he started to buck.
"Yes, fuck me, man,” Chance said, “Fuck my ass, dude."
"You want me to breed you, slut?” Brody asked.
"Yes, breed me. Fuck me and fucking breed me, man."
Brody slapped his ass and started to buck. “Ah ... so tight and soft. This ass was meant to be fucked.” he said.
It was as if Brody had finally found an unreachable itch Chance never been able to scratch by himself. Brody bucked his slim hips slowly at first, but in no time at all, he was pounding Chance into the leather seat and the car rocked back and forth. Chance held the seat for support, and his head bounced and bobbed. Brody fucked with a distinct rhythm, with unfaltering accuracy, for so long Chance's knees became numb. Brody pound in sets of three, as if he were hammering Chance's ass to the minute waltz ... one, two, three, one, two, three. Each time he went deep on the count of one, Chance would back into him so hard you could hear the loud slap of his pelvis against his ass. Brody wasn't even touching his penis, and in no time Brody was bringing him dangerously close to climax. So close that he actually had to hold back until Brody was ready to climax.
The faster Brody bucked, the heavier he breathed, until he finally whispered, “I'm getting close, baby. Grab your dick."
But Chance didn't have to touch himself. When Brody's chest started to heave and he shouted, “I'm coming, bitch,” Chance felt a powerful orgasm rise within his body, from the edges of his anus to the top of his forehead. He wanted to scream and shout. His heart was beating out of control and his head was spinning. It was different from what he'd always known. This orgasm felt as if the entire inside of his body had exploded.
They came at the same time. Brody filled his hole and Chance sprayed white liquid all over the back seat. He was about to take a deep breath and relax again, but Brody started to buck slowly, which caused another, less powerful orgasm. Chance's body started to shake and tremble—he'd never had a double orgasm. Brody smiled and slapped his ass a few times, then pulled out. “Damn, baby, that was fucking hot. It wasn't too fast for you, was it?"
Chance had to think about that for a moment. From what he could estimate, Brody had been banging him for at least a half-hour. So he ran his fingers across Brody's thick neck and said, “It was perfect.” But his legs were a little sore.
Brody smiled and bit him on the neck. “You're so hot".
After that, Chance wiped down the back seat with a towel and they both slumped down below the windows. This time Brody was on his back, and Chance rested on top of him. He placed his head on Brody's chest, then reached down and held Brody's genitals in his left hand. He slowly massaged and squeezed—there was more than enough junk to fill his hand.
"That feels good,” Brody said. He closed his eyes and folded his hands behind his head. “Almost better than nailing your ass."
Chance sighed. “There are a few things you need to know about me. I want to be honest up front so you don't think I'm playing games."
Brody opened his eyes and looked down. “I'm listening."
So Chance finally told him. He told him all about how his parents had tossed him out on the street when they found out he was gay. He told him about his living arrangements with Dan Pratta, and he talked about his plans to become a professional chef. He spoke slowly and clearly. His voice didn't waver and he didn't make any apologies about his decision to live with Dan. “If the old man knew I was with you right now,” he said, “I'd be out on the street immediately."
Brody listened quietly. At one point, when Chance started to talk about how Dan forced him to walk around naked, he clenched his fists behind his head and bit his bottom lip. When Chance stopped talking, Brody shook his head. “At least now I know why you acted so weird when I came into the market that day. I'd like to kick that old fuck right in the ass."
Chance let go of his balls and sat up straight. “That's the last thing I need.” He looked at his watch; it was after eleven-thirty. “I have to get back. I have a midnight curfew, and if he's awake and I come in late, I'll pay for it dearly.” He fumbled around the floor for his clothes and started to get dressed. The insides of his legs were wet: Brody's come was dripping down.
Brody rubbed his eyes and sat up. Then he sighed. “Can we sneak around? I'm not in the best position right now either. My mother has no idea I'm gay, and then there's the military's ‘don't ask, don't tell’ rule."
Chance pulled up his pants and fastened them. Evidently, he'd been hoping for something that didn't exist: That Brody would sweep him off his feet and take him away from
Dan, the market and his miserable life. But after hearing Brody talk about his own complications, it occurred to him that he'd have to do that all by himself. There was no knight in shining armor for people like him. “Let's keep it simple for now,” he said. Then he smiled and put on his shoes.
When he reached for the door, Brody pulled him back and held him tightly. “When can I see you?"
He reached down and grabbed Brody's junk again. “Soon ... but I'm not sure.” He kissed him on the lips and swirled his tongue inside his mouth for a moment. He let go of his balls and reached for the car door. Brody's lips were pressed together and his eyebrows were pointed down. “Get dressed now and go home, and, be a good boy."
Chance smiled again. He liked that while Brody was the strongest, most virile man he'd ever met—both in and out of bed—he also had an innocent, little-boy quality underneath the rugged facade.
As he was about to step out, Brody grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? I hope I didn't get too rough tonight. I tend to lose track while I'm fucking."
Chance turned and smiled. What a nice thing to say after such a wonderful experience. “It was the best night of my life so far. I'm fine."
"Just remember one thing,” Brody said, as he climbed out of the back seat, “That ass will always belong to me."
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Chapter Six
When Chance awoke and looked into the mirror early the next morning, he found a dark purple love bite on the right side of his neck—long and thin, shaped like the state of Florida. He frowned and reached for a box of Band-Aids under the bathroom sink to cover it up. The old man would go crazy if he saw it, and Chance couldn't lie about a love bite—he couldn't say it was a bug bite or a bruise. Brody's teeth marks were still there. His legs were sore and he had trouble walking, too. They felt tight and stiff when he leaned over for the Band-Aids. And when he looked into the cracked, full-length mirror behind the bathroom door, there were a few dark bruises on the backs of his legs: serious black-and-blue marks from the pounding he'd taken in Brody's back seat the night before. But more than that, there were two large red handprints on both sides of his ass. He arched his back a little and smiled; it was as if he could still feel Brody's erection in his body.
He got dressed and went down the back staircase slowly, then out the back door and into the barn. Before he did anything else that morning, he wanted to see if there were any squirrels in the traps. And sure enough, there were four brand-new squirrels trapped in cages and barely moving because they were so frightened. He shook his head when he saw the poor things trapped like that, but he smiled when he took each cage out back, opened the trap doors and set them free again. He didn't want to spray their tails that morning; it would have made Dan suspicious. He had to wait a few days so Dan would think the squirrels he'd driven to upstate New York had actually traveled back on their own accord.
When the empty traps were back in the barn and reset, Chance went into the kitchen to prepare his special for the day. Because he wanted some free time to make a few notes for the recipe competition, he decided to do one of his classic specials, a simple mac-and-cheese that everyone loved. Betty Shack had pleaded with him to share his secret ingredient more than once: “There's something in there that's different, but I can't put my finger on it. Please tell me.” Chance only smiled and told her he'd die with his secret. She never would have guessed that what made his mac-and-cheese stand out from all the others was plain yellow mustard and ground nutmeg—pre-ground, right from the can. No need to grate it with a pretentious tool.
The most important ingredient, the one Chance included in all his recipes, was love: the love of food and the ability to love the food enough to know how to choose the perfect combination of ingredients that made a recipe stand out. Ah, he'd seen too many cooks try to follow a recipe that never turned out very well. They didn't have the love, and everything they cooked tasted like sawdust.
So when the large pans of mac-and-cheese were baking in the oven, he began to work on his presentation for the Food Network. Though he still wasn't sure he'd even be selected—that was random luck, and he wasn't lucky—he figured it was best to be prepared. The lasagna bolognese was simple enough to set up, but he wanted to show the people at the Food Network that it was a recipe the entire family could participate in making. Small children could mix and knead the pasta dough while an adult arranged the bolognese sauce and the buchamel sauce. Then, when all the ingredients were prepared, the kids could help layer the lasagna pan—there really wasn't a wrong way to put it together. He smiled as he envisioned young children with spots of flour on their faces helping adults create something wonderful for the family meal. He missed that living at Dan's market: There was no family and no love.
He thought it was important for young children to learn how to get around in a kitchen, too. Cooking was fun, but it was also serious business. Young children had to understand that only adults could handle sharp tools, and older kids had to know how to use sharp tools safely. Chance made notes on the lasagna recipe, carefully imagining how children might react during the cooking process: the animated expressions on their faces when taught how to crack an egg or mix a bowl of cake frosting, or the way they smiled when they licked a cake batter bowl.
Most of all, Chance wanted people to understand that the ingredients for basic family-oriented recipes, whether it be lasagna bolognese or macaroni and cheese, did not have to cost a small fortune. When he watched cooking show hosts on TV, there were times he shook his head and squeezed the sofa pillow in protest. They used unreasonably expensive ingredients, like saffron and truffles. Most families watching couldn't afford to buy things like that—they weren't cooking in expensive restaurants. He even threw the sofa pillow across the room when one show host enforced using “the best cocoa money can buy. Always use the most expensive ingredients when baking a chocolate cake.” She convinced the audience they had to buy an outrageously expensive imported cocoa, when Chance knew full well that regular old Hershey's would have done the job. He'd learned, through experience, that using the most expensive ingredients money can buy is nothing more than hype and myth in most cases. It was all about the love of food and how you incorporated the ingredients that really mattered, not how much they cost.
When Dan walked into the market that morning, he didn't bang his fist on the counter or bellow orders as usual. Though he wasn't actually smiling, he'd found the squirrel traps empty and all was well with the world. But he did stare at Chance for a moment when he saw the Band-Aid on his neck. “What's-a wrong with your neck, you?"
Chance was leaning into the deli case and turning the potato salad over so it would appear fresh. He looked up and said, “I cut it shaving this morning. No big deal.” But he bit his bottom lip and prayed the bruises on his ass would go away by the time he had to go upstairs and walk around naked.
"Ah,” Dan said. “I'm going out to get new tires on the truck today. I'll be back by lunchtime.” He didn't bother to ask how bad the cut was or if he needed stitches. Chance hadn't bled to death, and that was apparently good enough for Dan.
Sarah walked through the front door at nine. She smiled at Chance, so wide that he saw all her teeth from across the market. He had just finished slicing a quarter-pound of Swiss cheese, extra thin, for Mae Conklin and he was wrapping it up. Mae was a soft-spoken, mousey woman in her seventies, the last so-called “old maid” left in town. He handed the cheese to Mae and followed her to the cash register so he could check Sarah's drawer. When he looked at Sarah, he pressed his palm to his throat and stepped back. She was wearing a very low-cut, tight black T-shirt that morning: Her large tits were busting out. The black shirt created a severe contrast against her pale white skin. At the bottom of her neck, and just above her ample line of cleavage, there were two large, obvious love bites. The one on her neck was the size of a quarter; the one on her bosom was two inches long and an inch wide, with small red teeth marks.
Chance decided to ignore the mar
ks. He opened the cash drawer and started counting the money as Sarah rang up Mae Conklin's Swiss cheese. But Mae leaned back when she noticed the offensive love bite on Sarah's neck, and she actually gasped when she saw the larger one on Sarah's bosom. Poor Mae—she started to rock back and forth in her brown vinyl mules, and her bottom lip quivered nervously when she reached into her little brown change purse for money. She tried to look away when she handed Sarah three one-dollar bills and thirty-nine cents in exact change (older women always had exact change), but Sarah's big tits were practically in her face. There was a small crumpled piece of blue foil left over from an old pack of Life Savers attached to one penny, but Mae didn't bother to remove it like she normally would have. Sarah took the money and Mae grabbed the Swiss cheese and ran out the front door without even asking for a bag.
Chance closed the cash drawer and said, “Why don't you just wear a sign that says, ‘I got fucked last night'?"
"Hey,” she said, loud and nasal.. “I had fun. Mike played with my tits for so long I thought they were going to fall off! And if you think these marks are bad, you should see the ones in other places. He bit me so hard down there I thought I'd scream.” Then she reached for the top button on her jeans and pulled it open.
"No, please,” he said. “I'll take your word for it.” The last thing he wanted to see was a love bite on Sarah's ass, and he didn't want to hear any of the details either.
Sarah raised her right eyebrow and put one hand on her hip. “Don't get so high and mighty with me. I see you're wearing a Band-Aid on your neck this morning."
"I cut myself shaving.” He smiled and left her so he could get back to work. Moving to the deli counter, it occurred to him that he could still feel Brody's penis in his body; he could still feel the fullness and power. He grinned at a large barrel filled with long sticks of pepperoni. Then he took a deep breath, smoothed out his apron and set about re-organizing the spice shelf.
