A Cuddly Toy (The Bent Zealots MC Book 5)

by Layla Wolfe

  “Can’t say better. Different. No, you’re better because you have passion. Or am I mistaken? That you have passion?”

  “You know I have passion for you. But do I have a badge? I’ve heard you only get fucked by cops.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?” Fremont’s penis lay like a giant slug against his thigh. My mouth watered to taste it, especially salty like it would be with his cedar-scented sweat, but I needed to stay in command.

  I said in a low voice, “You told me one night. You said your first gay experience was a cop who was getting you to turn, and apparently he was pretty persuasive.”

  Fremont raised his eyebrows. “That all I said?”

  “Unfortunately. Come on. You can tell me. Look.” I fisted my penis at the base, displaying it to its max. I even thrust my hips a little, spreading my thighs. Hoping Manygoats didn’t come back soon to drizzle water on the fire. “Look how hot I get just thinking about it. What did he do?”

  Fremont looked at the fire. The drumming, simulating a heartbeat, was in perfect accordance with mine. By journeying back into our mother’s womb, we could grow again. We were connecting with Arizona, the rez and its history. But I wanted to hear about this perverted cop.

  Fremont started out as though narrating his film. “I was about sixteen when we broke the ceiling fan at the pool hall. We tried running but ran right into a knot of cops. There were four of us taken in, but they separated us. This one cop, Simons was his name, he kept telling me that my friends had squealed when I knew they hadn’t. But I already had a thing for men in uniforms, so I started getting erect while he’s grilling me.”

  I started getting erect while he talked. I had empathy for his plight. Within seconds my penis was stretched to its full length, and I was proud to see Fremont’s eyes alight on it. “Did he notice?”

  He looked back at the smoke spiraling from the rocks and wood. “I’ve often thought about that. Did he do what he did because he noticed I was turned on? Or would he have done it anyway?”

  “What did he do?” I urged, cradling a handful of my own balls. We were supposed to be saying prayers of healing and gratitude, and it struck me that this was our own way. I fondled my sweaty balls while my lover told me a private, personal story from his youth. He trusted me enough to tell me. That made me love him even more.

  “He started saying stuff like ‘look, I’ll give you special consideration if you tell me who broke the fan. I know you didn’t do it. Tell me which friend did.’ Of course, I asked what the special consideration was. We were sitting in chairs face to face. He sort of scissored his knees between mine and just reached over and grabbed my cock and squeezed. He said, ‘I know you’re a horny boy, a horny Jewish boy who hasn’t gotten much pussy in his life.’ I had to admit I hadn’t. I was still a pussy virgin.”

  As opposed to cock virgin. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold out while he told the story. I willed the hand that ringed my penis to stay still, but I freely allowed the other hand to roam across my scrotum, kneading it like dough.

  “For a second, I thought he was going to jack me off, like at the club. That was one reason the club turned me on so heavily. Being jacked in public, in an office where anyone could walk in at any second, well I was practically jizzing in my pants. But it wasn’t to be. He leaned back in his chair and started squeezing his own dick.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said stuff like, ‘I’ll bet you want to suck my meat. You want someone in control, someone to dominate you.’ I had no idea domination was actually a thing. I just knew I liked it.”

  Manygoats came in to stoke the smoldering fire and dash water on it. We were silent, not bothering to cover up our hard-ons. We locked gazes, unwavering. God, I love this man. I wanted him to be mine, now.

  When Manygoats crawled back out, I got to my knees and wrapped a long arm around Fremont’s torso. I cradled his powerful back to my abdomen, reveling in the silken, wet feel of his flawless, tanned skin. Bowing over him like that, hugging his buff body to mine, his curvy ass was cradled against my stiff penis. I dry-humped him lightly, the sweat in the crack of his ass lubing my erection.

  “You realized you liked to be dominated,” I reminded him.

  Fremont stretched as far as he could under the low earthen roof, undulating his spine against me. Sweat washed down our bodies, gluing us together. “Yes. Suddenly it was my overwhelming passion to suck off this man wearing a badge. He told me to get down on my knees, and he’d release me from jail with just a verbal warning. That is, if I gave him something verbal.”

  I didn’t even chuckle at his lame humor attempt. “So, he’s squeezing his hard-on . . . “ I needed him to hurry up the story, or I was going to ejaculate all over his butt.

  “Of course, I got down on my knees between his legs . . . Oh motherfuck, Noel, squeeze my dick.”

  His dick was harder and plumper than I’d ever felt. But realizing that once again, I was doing his bidding, I lifted up his rod in order to apply a few disciplined slaps to his ballsac. “And you took his penis out . . . “

  “He took his penis out. It was funny, ‘cause he wasn’t that hung, and his dick was sort of crooked. But to me it was the most mouth-watering sight in the world. He kept talking dirty, like ‘this is what you want, isn’t it, boy,’ and calling me a boy to remind me of our age difference, though he probably wasn’t over thirty. Ah!”

  He gasped when I slapped his balls harder. I hadn’t intended that, I was so fixated on his words, his story. But it added an extra surge of lust, and soon I found myself gripping my own penis, rubbing the head between his butt cheeks. Spitting into my hand, I rounded my cockhead with the extra lube, but we were so dripping with sweat, I barely needed it.

  Stabbing my hips against him, my cockhead penetrated an inch.

  Now it was my turn to gasp. I utterly forgot to slap his scrotum. Fremont forgot his story, too. He panted like a winded racehorse, his penis hard to bursting inside my fist. We shuddered against each other for a long minute. The only thing going through my tortured brain was something to the effect of he’s a cock virgin. Mine is the first penis he’s ever taken. I’m the first. He’ll feel my penis and none other.

  Yet I wanted him to continue the story, so I held back. My cockhead twitched and bulged inside his slick canal, but as much as I craved to, I didn’t assault him. I remembered to slap his balls. He took a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and like a wind-up toy, instantly resumed his story.

  “I leaped on him like a cat jumping from a tree. I’d never sucked dick, but I had beyond enough experience watching porn to know how a man should suck another.”

  “Did you take him long and deep?”

  “God, yes. And not to flatter my own skills, but it sure seemed like he’d never been taken that enthusiastically. He cried out, and the dirty talk stopped. He just grabbed handfuls of my hair and pulled. Hurt like hell, but my mouth, my throat was full of his meat. It was like eating again after months of starvation. I couldn’t stuff enough cock into my mouth. I swirled my tongue, I sucked, I played with his balls. I remember him crying out, “Porca puttana!” and “Vaffanculo!”

  I knew some Italian from my Roman Catholic days. Fremont’s lusty cop was shouting holy crap and go fuck yourself!

  My voice trembled. “Did he fuck you?” I stabbed another inch of my penis inside his hole, and he hissed.

  “No. He was too far gone. He finally just started sighing, ‘my boy . . . my little boy . . . you suck your daddy so good . . . ‘”

  That was it. There was no way I could control myself anymore. I think I was already ejaculating by the time I penetrated my boy another inch and hit his prostate. I concentrated on massaging that nubbin with the ridge of my glans while beating him off with my free hand.

  It was my turn to step up the dirty talk. “How you like being fucked up the ass by your priest? Have you been dreaming about this since you were a boy?”

  “Yes!” he cried, though I couldn’t
be sure if he meant it, or it was part of the game. Either way, it was hot.

  His penis was so close to bursting I swear I could feel the cum roiling against my palm. “You like being fucked, don’t you? Having a man with a big cock take you against your will? An older man, a man with a uniform, a man with a crucifix?”

  “Oh God yes! Fuck me with your pious dick!”

  “My dick is so pious it’s had holy water sprinkled on it,” I said smoothly. That was actually the truth. I’d done that once to see what would happen before fucking a Muslim man from Iraq. Nothing did, of course, but I wondered what would happen to him after I stuffed his hole with the essence. A very simple prayer came to mind. “Almighty and everlasting God, you made the universe with all its marvelous order, its atoms, worlds, and galaxies, and the infinite complexity of living creatures. Grant that, as we probe the mysteries of your creation, we may come to know you more truly, and more surely fulfill our role in your eternal purpose, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord,”

  Except by the final words, I was growling, snarling, and spitting. I was pinging his gland but also rubbing my glans to an unbelievable height, When I slid a hand up his torso to tweak a nipple, I felt him lose it. His anus contracted around my penis, and he erupted in my hand. I encouraged him by jacking him tight and fast, and his asshole sucking at my dick brought me off too.

  It felt like all the blood was drawn from my brain. Maybe it was the airless enclosure of the sweat lodge, or the celestial prayer about atoms and galaxies. But I shot my load like a cannon, pinning him tight against me, deeper inside him than any man had ever been. A cock virgin. After I stopped gasping for breath, I slapped his delicious ass a few times for good measure. Then I slapped his penis, knowing it would be bittersweet after he dropped his own load.

  Fremont flinched, and clenched his asshole around me, milking me. Every time I spanked him, he clenched around me, the perfect trade-off.

  Between the thick smoke and my exertion, I began seeing clear swimming bubbles floating in the darkened hut. Regretfully I withdrew from my lover. I fell back on my ass on a blanket. If this process was for purification, we were the purest men of all.

  Fremont wiped black sweat from his neck with a rag. “Is Galileo cooking that sheep later on? I could eat an entire sheep now.”

  “I believe he is. Anson and Ormond expressed an interest in coming over. Oh, and Harte wanted to come down to show Fredericka some other samples of native ores and minerals. Lots of gold, silver, stuff like that.”

  Fremont said, “Turquoise, azurite, wulfenite . . .”

  I flashed him a smile and grabbed his filthy rag. “Something like that. I forget, you’re the soils guy. Is your house in Aurora filled with rocks?” Then I remembered. He still lived in a condo up there. Everything else was in storage.

  It was too much to ask for him to move into the tiny rectory with me, especially with Galileo there, but I dreamed maybe he could build a house nearby. Being the hero of the Diné, why not? He could make an example of building materials that would not cause Navajo neuropathy. He could fly out of Phoenix when the EPA sent him on his next tour of duty.

  Fremont sighed deeply, watching me wipe off my blackened throat with more black sweat. “I need a real place to live.”

  “Build a house here.”

  “I thought of that,” he said, surprising me. “Ahiga, the Bloodgoods, and Blackmountain have suggested I do that. I was thinking, I could build like a model home, an open house so people can come in and see which materials to use.”

  Great minds often think alike, but I didn’t like the idea of lookie-loo Indians busting in while we were in bed, for instance. “Exactly! Except maybe leave the house tour to someone else.”

  Manygoats came in then and said we’d spent too much time in there. We crawled out, dazed, underneath a dazzling night sky. How the fuck long had we been in there?

  It hurt to stretch ourselves out tall. I didn’t feel ashamed to be buck naked in front of several Indians. They were probably aware that these two men were just fucking each other. I would’ve rather showered first, and indeed Manygoats gave us some plastic pitchers of water to half-assedly wash ourselves with. But we still had to put on our jeans, socks, and in my case my dog collar and clerical shirt.

  It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that this priest had just fucked this scientist, yet all the men sat with stoic faces staring into the darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NOEL

  I enveloped Fremont in the cocoon of my arms, naked and sexed.

  We had taken to sleeping at the rectory in the middle of the week when things weren’t as hopping. Of course, some people figured it out immediately and of course, some people said something. But it was more along the lines of genial ribbing. I knew some of the older gents to be homophobes—Fredericka told me—but they managed to reign it in for my sake. I thought that took a heroic effort. Beliefs, once formulated and justified, were not easily altered.

  Squeak. Squeak. That’s the only description I can give of the sound I heard outside my bedroom window. Roaming packs of coyotes, some not so distant, yipped and howled. I raised myself on an elbow to differentiate the coyote from what sounded like footfalls outside the rectory.

  The steps were more deliberate, heavier than a coyote. It could be a Sonoran pronghorn. The endangered, shy animal sometimes came around in the dead of night for a handout. I slipped quietly out of bed, throwing on a thin robe.

  Galileo was snoring so loudly he rattled the pictures on the walls. He usually had a sheepherder’s acute sense of his surroundings. I’d seen him quite fall out of bed in terror when he heard a couple of coati wrestling with each other outside. I was glad, because we had no burglar alarm, and things had been sketchy lately.

  U-238’s job was shut down while the EPA made an initial site report to the Superfund. Still, we’d seen other strangers lurking around, people Fremont said were U-238 men, and we’d seen Ozzie Avery twice looking through a high-powered scope. Both times he’d just been blustering and swaggering, not knowing that much about uranium or mining himself.

  With my back to the wall like a spy, I fixed on a likely place and shined my little flashlight out the window.

  What in the name of arse? That was no fucking deer! And, as I saw the creature sprint away clumsily on two feet, I saw it was no coyote either.

  I ripped open the front door to the moonless night. Pounding onto the deck, I wish I’d grabbed more than a flashlight. It would be stupid to chase him shoeless and our vehicles were around a small rise, in the church parking lot. By the time I reached my ride, the guy would be popping wheelies behind those dunes.

  Behind me I heard the screen door bang. “You can use my gun, a Walther PPK. Or . . . can you? I’ll teach you.”

  I was more embarrassed at being caught handling just a flashlight, as if I’d brain the culprit with it.

  I sighed deeply. “I know how. When I was a thug, believe it or not, I traded in guns. Just don’t own one now.”

  “Who you think that was?”

  I shrugged. “Ozzie, another flunky, a Russian hitman. With him it could be anything.”

  “They’re gone now. Come in. It’s freezing out. And tomorrow I’m going to teach you to shoot my Luger.”

  We stripped off our robes, flinging them, and got under the covers. Our bodies migrated right toward each other, Fremont snuggling his head in the crook of my shoulder. I never grew tired of his silken hair under my palm, against my cheek.

  “You must be the hero you were born to be.”

  I had no idea why I said that. I realized I made it sound as though he should’ve gotten out there and chased the bad guy down.

  I said, “Remember when I said that? Well, you’ve proven yourself a hero a hundred times since.”

  When Fremont and I rode around the edge of the butte on my Fatboy, the vista was breathtaking.

  I don’t mean the backdrop of the Salomé Range, layers of iced cake ranging
from red velvet to grape to lemon. No, it was the sight of the community gathered around the cluster of contaminated homes, a serious and worthy cast to their party mood.

  “There’s Klah!” said Fremont, leaping from his saddle before I did.

  We’d recently given Klah Biakeddy another chance in the Navajo Nation. The future axe murderer had served his time for assault in the rez jail. I’d visited him a few times, and he seemed sincerely to regret his actions. While the sincerity of men was always a long shot and most difficult to discern, at some point I had to place faith in others. That’s what it boiled down to. Klah would always be a sketchy, rumbly bloke. Men didn’t get a personality transplant in a few months. But I had to believe.

  Since Klah was now too old for a foster home, once again the Bent Zealots stepped up to the plate. Twinkletoes, still acting as Fremont’s unofficial assistant, had been installed in a “clean” house in the Salomé Valley. Klah moved there under Twinkletoes’ tutelage. The motorcycle club paid their living expenses—nothing extravagant, no video games or Netflix and chill. No one expected Klah to become a Zealots Prospect, not at all. The goal was to just keep him out of trouble. His only other option was to move to Quartzsite and become another gangbanging Indian, dying of an OD of Montana Gin.

  Ahiga, Blackmountain, Manygoats, Toby Bloodgood and some Zealots were all there. The two Leroys, Street and Sinquah the sheriff, were lifting beers. I’d kept my eye on that law enforcement official. He had a thing for bilagáana penis and Fremont was the new, hot queer on the scene. Fremont had told me, probably to make me jealous, that before it became common knowledge we were a couple, Sinquah had once more made a grab for his dick. Fremont, with the EPA, were at Sinquah’s actual house with his actual Diné wife in the kitchen, when Sinquah invited him into a room to “show him something.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” I had said.

  “No,” Fremont had protested, “he really wanted to show me some ancient artifact he’d discovered buried.”