Hooch and Cake

by Heidi Cullinan

  Whimpering, Sam opened his mouth wide and turned his head toward Randy’s dick, trying to trap it inside.

  Randy slid into the offered opening, teasing the ring, then sliding in over Sam’s tongue. “There you go. Good hole. Now seal it up, Hole. That’s right. And suck it. Suck while I push into your throat.” He pressed in far enough to make Sam gag a little. “Suck harder.” He pushed against the back of Sam’s throat a few times, making him cry and whimper—he glanced at Sam’s right hand and made sure he had his handkerchief on him, and he did—then he pulled out, just past Sam’s puffy lips dripping with saliva. Then he drove in again, right to the back, thrusting and ordering Sam to suck harder until he was gurgling and almost crying.

  After a few rounds of that he gave Sam a break, switching to shallow fucks inside his mouth as he anchored himself on Sam’s hair, and he turned to Keith, who had been watching the entire show with a feral look in his eye.

  Randy winked at him. “We’ve taught Sam a lot since you last had his mouth. But you knew about the hair-pulling, right?” Randy yanked hard on Sam’s hair, making Sam moan and suck harder. “The more you yank, the harder he sucks. And you can deep throat this slut like nothing else. Really bang in there. Here, Peaches—show him how you let me face-fuck you. Not the slow stuff we’ve been doing or the deep holds. Let me pound you.”

  Sam, gasping for air around Randy’s cock, looked worn out and wrecked, but not terrified. He also looked slutty as fuck and turned on as hell. He nodded at Randy and opened his mouth wide.

  Randy massaged his hair. “That’s right. Open up. Little more. Nice and wide. Give me a good hole. But stop looking at Keith. Look at me.” He slapped Sam’s cheek. “Up. That’s the way. Right in my eyes. Gonna fuck your throat open. Shoot my load down so Keith can watch. Mitch too. You’ve been waiting a long time for this. You want Mitch to see the guy you were slutty with first. Feel all that shame rolling around while a straight boy from home fucks your face, then your ass.”

  Keith moved closer, his expression hungry. “Shit, he lets you talk to him like that?”

  Randy snorted. “Honey, he loves it. Don’t you, Peaches? You love it when I call you a slut. Because you are a slut. Aren’t you?” He pulled out of Sam’s mouth and pinched his nipple through his shirt, hard enough to make Sam wince. “Tell him. Tell Keith you’re a slut. Look him in the eye and tell him.”

  Cheeks burning red, Sam turned his head and looked Keith in the eye. “I’m a slut.”

  Randy tugged at the nipple he’d captured. “Tell him you like getting fucked in the mouth by strangers.”

  Shame radiated from Sam like heat. “I like getting fucked in the mouth by strangers.”

  Randy wouldn’t let up. “And how do you feel about men you barely know fucking you and treating you roughly in front of your fiancé?”

  They might as well have peeled off Sam’s skin, he was so raw. “I want it so much I could get off just thinking about it.”

  “Shall we let you have that, then?” Randy stepped closer and ran the tip of his dick along Sam’s cheek. “Shall I teach Keith how to use you and treat you rough?”

  Sam shuddered, closed his eyes. “Yes, please.”

  “Then turn back to me and open, baby. And be a good, good slut, and show us all how much you want this.”

  Sam did. Face flaming with shame, eyes banked with lust, he opened his mouth and held still while Randy pounded into his throat, moving fast and rough but then sometimes going deep and holding himself in there until Sam gagged, then pulling back and fucking deep again. Randy deliberately kept tripping that gag reflex, and every time Sam gagged, Keith stiffened and dug his fingers into his jeans. When Randy came, he pulled out and sprayed all over Sam’s face, and Sam kept his mouth open like a baby bird, letting his tongue coat with cum.

  Keith had his dick out before Randy had his put away—he gripped Sam’s hair and drove in, and with a moan, Sam took him home.

  It really was a sight—Keith was a motherfucker, swearing at Sam and calling him names as he thrust and demanded Sam suck harder. He pulled his hair until he cried out, which of course only made Sam wilder.

  Randy knelt behind Sam, nibbling on his neck while Keith fucked his face and Randy undid his pants. “Gonna bare your ass, because it’s next. Let Keith see how hard this gets you. How the more names he calls you and the rawer he gets, the harder you are. Sweet little slut. Show him how much you missed this cock in your mouth, how much you want it in your ass.”

  Sam showed him. Sam sucked him and whimpered and looked up adoringly at Keith while he spewed venom. Keith came on his face, drawing Sam’s head down to let the spunk hit his hair.

  With a wicked laugh, Randy pinched Keith’s ass, then led Sam to the couch for round two.

  It was in so many ways one of Randy’s all-time favorite sex adventures with Sam and Mitch. Randy got to drive, but it was performance all the way—for Mitch, who simply sat in his armchair, dark gaze observing; for Keith, who willingly took up every raunchy act Randy egged him into. Randy opened Sam on his lap, encouraging Keith to watch while Randy greased Sam up. “Making him ready for you. All spread, getting himself wet.” He tweaked Sam’s nipple with lube-slick fingers. “You want to get wetter for Keith, Peaches? You want to be so wet you drip for him?”

  Sam groaned, shut his eyes, and drew his legs wider.

  Randy worked him with so much lube it slid from him as Keith arranged him on the coffee table, braced on a pile of cushions.

  Randy held him down while Keith got ready behind him, pinching Sam’s nipples.

  “You’re just a hole tonight, Sam, a slutty series of holes. He used the first one, and now he’s after this one. Let him see it.” Randy smacked Sam’s ass with his hand, then continued to tug ruthlessly on Sam’s nipple as he spoke to Keith. “What do you think of the hole? Open wide enough? Wet enough? Would you like to fuck it now, play with it? Push things into it? Slap it?”

  Keith stilled. “Slap it?”

  Sam whimpered, burying his face in his hands. “No, please.”

  Randy slapped his ass again, then, out of spite, moved behind him and gave him a sharp slap against his perineum and over his waiting hole. Sam cried out and shivered, but ultimately didn’t move. Randy nodded in satisfaction and turned to Keith.

  “Slap it. Like that.” He slapped Sam again, several times in succession, making him gasp and squirm and beg for Randy to stop. He didn’t, not until Sam whimpered and pushed against him desperately. “He loves to hate that one. You can mix it up too. Sharp slaps until he’s compliant, finger-fuck him until he’s desperate, then slap him again. Call him a dirty slut the whole time. Then out of nowhere start fucking him. Rough and hard until you’re done.”

  The expression on Keith’s face was dark and dangerous and delightful. “How about slapping his ass and thighs. And pinching them.”

  “Fair game, within reason. If he calls out violet or drops that red hanky, it’s over, or if Mitch or I tell you to stop, you stop. Otherwise no matter what he tells you, you keep going. In fact, if he begs you to stop without the word violet and that hanky is still in his hand, you go to fucking town, buddy. Got it?”

  Keith grinned and stroked his dick. “Yeah. Got it.”

  Keith got it all right. He played with Sam like a spider toying with a fly. First he mimicked Randy’s play, slapping at Sam and fingering him, but then he began to fuck him, slapping and pinching whatever flesh he could find as he pounded away. He loved going hard, loved a rough scene. He used Sam mercilessly, until Sam was crying and begging him to stop—at which point Keith only laughed and went harder.

  Yet, as the night progressed, as Randy led them into other games, the three of them together, always, he couldn’t help but notice Jameson’s hard edges were rubbing off. He began to show a strange kind of affection for what he was allowed to do to Sam, speaking almost reverently about pounding Sam’s ass.

  “He’s so amazing,” he whispered to Randy when Mitch and Sam were reconne
cting in the bedroom alone and Keith and Randy were getting water in the kitchen. “I mean—I always knew he gave great head, and he seemed like a nice guy otherwise, but holy crap, the guy can take a pounding. I would be in tears over what he’s been through. And you’re telling me he’s just resting?”

  Randy smiled around his glass. “He won’t rest until Mitch has had him too. And he’ll want you to see that. His way of letting you know that was all fun and games, but at the end of the day, Mitch is the one for him.”

  “Well I know that,” Keith protested.

  Randy shook his head. “It’s not about knowing. It’s about showing.”

  Once the break was over, Randy trussed Peaches to a bench, shoved a metal plug in deep, strapped all his appendages down, and taught Keith how to paddle him. He taught him, too, how to take Sam all the way to the edge of coming but not let him get there, showed Keith what a fun head-fuck that was. Sam began to alternate between whimpering about his ass and begging to get off. He wasn’t allowed, though, not until Keith had fucked him over the bench, followed by Randy. With spent condoms littered at his knees and five loads coating his body, Sam, still hard as a bar of iron, went limp everywhere else as Randy untied him and laid him out like an offering for Mitch.

  Keith watched, quiet, as Mitch fucked his fiancé more ruthlessly than Randy or Keith had. He noted, Randy knew, the difference between Sam getting fucked to get off and Sam getting fucked by the man he loved, however roughly. When Sam came, Keith shuddered. As Sam and Mitch retreated into the bathroom and then to bed, Randy passed Keith the bottle of mescal and a glass.

  “You know,” Randy said once they’d both had a shot, “there are girls who will let you fuck them like that too.”

  Keith shut his eyes and sank back into the couch. “I don’t know how the hell to find them.”

  “Look. That’s how. Get out there. Put yourself out there—but be smart. Remember, with girls or guys you’ve got to be more delicate when you first meet them so they know you’re not a psycho. Too many guys are asses, and they’ll be checking to see if you’re going to fuck them up in a bad way. Letting someone use you like this takes trust. And when it’s someone of your actual orientation, reciprocate. With girls, a little cunnilingus never goes amiss.”

  Keith snorted and took another hit of mescal. “Hanging out with gay men isn’t going to teach me that.”

  “Please. If I weren’t so tired, I’d go find a girl and show you right now.” When Keith’s jaw fell open, Randy rolled his eyes. “What, you think you’re the only one in the world who loves sex enough not to be particular about how he gets it? I’m not straight, not even bi, but man do women come apart nice when you seduce them right.”

  Keith stared at Randy like he wanted to blow him. It pleased Randy to know he could probably make that happen. “Would—would you show me? Seriously?”

  Randy put an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Oh, sweetheart. I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Five

  MITCH RARELY SAW Randy during the month of December. Randy spent plenty of time at a local garage owned by the brother of the guy who ran the Mexican grocery, putzing with cars and trucks and telling dirty jokes in his bad Spanish. He kept the house cleaner than a hospital emergency room, and there was always a pile of food in the kitchen. Even if he was gone for a few days, he left casseroles and storage containers in the freezer with notes on the front of the fridge explaining how everything should be prepared.

  Randy left Middleton sometimes for days at a time, usually playing poker, though he said he was also wedding planning—in part because his poker playing fueled his van and provided his slush fund for deposits. He was furious when he learned he couldn’t play online in Iowa, and Mitch suspected Skeet or his gangster friend in Vegas discovered a workaround. Mostly, though, Randy hit the live games at casinos across the state, as well as a few private ones. He favored the Horseshoe in Council Bluffs, but he went just as often to Prairie Meadows in Altoona, a few miles east of Des Moines. After a few weeks, Randy had Mitch drop him off when he was going on a quick run in the right direction, having Mitch pick him up on the way home. Poker games went well into the wee hours of the morning, and Skeet liked to get on board Old Blue after a breakfast at the casino buffet and sleep all the way back to Middleton.

  He wasn’t only gambling, though. Randy wouldn’t give any details, but he was constantly spinning out plans for the wedding, asking Sam and Mitch what their preferences were on style and substance and sometimes finer details about setting. One night shortly before Christmas, he fed them Christmas cookies and rum-heavy eggnog and grilled them but good.

  “What would you do for a wedding if you could do anything?” He pulled Sam into a straddle over his lap and trailed fingers down the center of his chest. “If you had a fairy godmother, what would you wish for? A trip to Aruba? Debauchery? Fairy tale?”

  Sam, who was significantly tipsy, smiled wistfully instead of giving his usual response of closing off and insisting the wedding didn’t matter. “I want a pretty ceremony and something fun after. I don’t care about the theme. I like the idea of all kinds of people there who are happy for me. I don’t want a church, but I’d want the ceremony to be meaningful.” He slipped his fingers into Randy’s hair in a clumsy gesture. “The reception should be fun, though. A big party.”

  Randy ran his hands over Sam’s ass, slipping his fingers under his waistband. “Dirty party?”

  “Maybe.” Sam’s wicked smile faded into naked sorrow. “Except nobody’s gonna come to my wedding or my reception, Randy, except you and Em. I don’t even think Keith would come.”

  “Hush.” Randy swatted him on the butt and turned to Mitch. “What about you, Old Man? What’s your dream wedding? And you can’t say whatever Sam wants. That’s copping out, and it’s rude. Fess up. What is it you wish you could do when you get hitched?”

  Mitch sipped his eggnog and ate another cookie as he considered. For so long he hadn’t thought he’d ever get married, period, let alone have a ceremony to wish over. But Randy wanted an answer, and a glance at Sam said his lover did too.

  “Valentine’s Day,” Mitch said at last. “I’d want to get married on Valentine’s Day.”

  He expected teasing, but Randy only smiled an enigmatic smile, and Sam climbed off Randy’s lap and onto Mitch’s, his expression puppy-dog sweet. “Oh, Mitch, that’s so romantic. I think we should do that. Even if we just go down to the courthouse, we should get married on Valentine’s Day.”

  Mitch raised an eyebrow at Randy. “Does that work with the plans you’re making? Valentine’s Day isn’t very far away.”

  Randy rolled his eyes. “Hooker, I could throw you a gala in twenty minutes with one hand tied behind my back and a cock rammed down my throat. V-day it is.” He scooted closer on the couch and ran a hand down Sam’s leg. “But speaking of cock, I’d like to put mine in your butt, baby.”

  As he always did, Sam went soft and glassy at the prospect of getting done. They’d had Keith over several times, and Mitch suspected long after Randy went home that particular carnival ride would keep spinning, but there was something special about it being the three of them, the original triad, playing a game. They did Sam right there, working his jeans down with him still kneeling over Mitch’s lap. Randy greased Sam and made a big show of using one of the Biehl drugstore condoms, kissing Sam’s neck as he murmured wickedly against his skin.

  “I’ll have to go down tomorrow and tell them we’ve used up all the condoms.” He nipped the fleshy lobe of Sam’s ear. “Tell them how much I enjoyed them. I’ll make sure you’re there too, so you blush and they realize I used family planning devices on you.”

  Sam shut his eyes with a delicious shiver. Mitch caught his cock and drew his attention back, skimming his other hand up Sam’s chest to tweak a nipple.

  “Tell me what Randy’s doing to you, Sunshine.” He pulled the nipple taut. “Look me in the eye and tell me everything.”

  Sam’s gaze w
as hooded, lust-dark, his tongue loosened but words sludgy because of the alcohol. “He has his fingers in me.”

  Mitch slapped Sam’s flank. “More specific.”

  Sam quivered. Mitch could see the muscle of Randy’s arm, his eyes glittering as he sucked all around Sam’s shoulder.

  “F-fingers.” Sam anchored himself on Mitch’s arm. “A…couple. Moving. In and out. Biting my shoulder. Sucking it.”

  “Yep. He’s gonna leave marks all over. And I’m gonna mark your ass after he fucks it. Is he fucking you now? What’s he doing with those fingers?”

  Sam kept gasping, hips jerking as Randy worked him. “Twisting. Pushing—ohgod.”

  Mitch twisted too, renewing his attack on Sam’s nipples. This was what Mitch liked, Sam flustered and on the edge. Nobody rode shame like Sam. Nobody dutifully reported what somebody was doing to them, nobody let themselves be done like a gift. Nobody but Sam. He never showed off, was never saucy. He simply sank into the fuck and let Mitch watch the ride.

  Adjusting his own erection, Mitch let go of Sam’s cock and trailed over his balls and taint. He traced the edge of Sam’s stretched hole, where Randy had three fingers plowing in and out, occasionally hooking inside.

  “Mmm.” Mitch sucked hard on Sam’s tit, then bit the nipple until he cried out. He pressed against Randy’s fingers—Randy withdrew one, inviting Mitch inside. Mitch accepted the invitation, coming in a little bit rough because he knew how much Sam liked it that way.

  Sam cried out and pushed back into their hands, shivering and whimpering when the movement pulled his nipple taut in Mitch’s teeth.

  “There’s a good slut.” Randy started thrusting again, moving in counter-piston to Mitch. “Ass all full of fingers. Except you want more, don’t you, Peaches. You want an ass full. You want everything in your ass. Because you’re a sweet little slut, aren’t you?”

  Sam’s head rolled back and landed on Randy’s shoulder. His eyes were closed in ecstasy. “Yes.”